


Going Forward

by allisbuttoys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisbuttoys/pseuds/allisbuttoys
Summary: Forward: toward or at a place, point, or time in advance.“I couldn’t save them. I would have done anything to save them all. I wish they could have been here to see the millennium”.





	1. Prologue

**22 December 1999**

The evening that day saw one Hermione Jean Granger standing the in middle of her back garden amidst the winter snow, head tilted towards the night sky. She didn’t know how exactly she had come to the conclusion that it would be a good idea but as she had sat wrapping some of her Christmas gifts that evening she had looked out of the window at the cloudless sky and felt an inexplicable urge to stand in the snow and look up at the stars.

She had always appreciated the beauty of the night sky, even before she had attended Hogwarts. There had always been something that just felt magical about it. As a child her father had taught her about the constellations and their mythology. Hermione may have studied astronomy at school but it never lessened her childlike interest in the stars. She picked out several familiar shapes in the sky, smiling a little sadly as she found Sirius, the Dog Star. Her stargazing the last couple of years had always been tinged with sadness, especially on a night like this. The body in the sky which she had once taken so much pleasure from seeing as a child had been forever tainted in her mind with the connotations she now knew that it held for the world she had entered eight years ago now.

The moon shone full and bright overhead. Hermione wondered how many people would be looking to it with an entirely different attitude tonight. To some in the muggle world it would provoke wonder or simply indifference. To her world it had the potential to instil fear or to beckon with its brutal call, impossible to ignore. She knew that Bill Weasley would be pacing the length of his living room over and over again as he always did on these nights, trying to ignore the restlessness that resulted from the scars on his face. He was one of the more fortunate survivors of such an attack, there were many who were forced to obey the pull of the full moon. They would spend their night (and probably the next few days) in misery and pain.

But the situation was getting better, Hermione reflected as she sipped at her mug of tea, eyes still on the moon. It was a long road and she knew this only too well, but the wizarding world was beginning to come to terms with what the alienation of the different sects of their society could once again result in. The Ministry had to issue the rallying cry for those who felt abandoned from now on, not the Dark Arts. Two wars were enough.

It had been a little over two years since the fall of Voldemort. Two years of trying not only to rebuild but to improve. Hermione had insisted on that when she first got involved in the Regeneration Project. There was no point in simply rebuilding a broken society.

Two years, she thought wearily as she took another sip of her drink to combat the chill in the air. in truth it felt a lot longer than only two years and yet the deaths of their comrades, their friends, were still as close to them as ever before. While the rest of the world had celebrated the end of the war only months earlier Hermione, along with Harry and Ron, had conducted a near silent vigil at the side of the memorial erected outside the front doors of Hogwarts castle. She remembered the silent tears that she had shed as she held both of the boys’ hands. They had lost so many: teachers, friends, family.

A wolf howled in the distance, snapping Hermione back to the present. At least in part. For a split second she wondered if the sound was coming from the Shrieking Shack. The crack in her heart deepened slightly as she realised that was impossible, Remus Lupin was among those friends whom they had lost.

He shouldn’t have died, she thought, angry tears building in her eyes. None of them should have died.

Harry had talked to her several times about this guilt. He called it ‘survivors guilt’ but Hermione knew that wasn’t what she was feeling, not exactly. She felt guilty for surviving when others had not, certainly, but more than that she felt an almost overwhelming guilt that she had not been able to stop it. ‘The brightest witch of her age’ she had been called and yet she had been powerless to stop the death and destruction. She had once taken great pride in the title, she thought bitterly, now it seemed like a mockery.

I couldn’t save them, she thought, her eyes fixed steadily on the moon, I would have done anything to save them all. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred. I wish they hadn’t died, I wish they could have been here to see the millennium.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione listened again for the wolf. But the night was silent. She sighed quietly to herself. No matter how decidedly not festive she felt right now, the wrapping paper awaited.


	2. Chapter 1

**31 December 1999**

‘Happy New Year, Hermy!’

Hermione ignored the butchering of her name and smiled at the more than slightly inebriated Lavender Brown. ‘Not for another twenty-minutes, Lavender.’

Her former classmate frowned at her before recapturing Ron’s attention. For his part, Ron shrugged sheepishly at his friend and Hermione laughed it off before pushing her way through the crowds and into the kitchen.

Molly Weasley had wanted to have the party at the Burrow but had reluctantly agreed that it was really too small for all of the extended Weasley family and their friends. When Harry had offered Grimmauld Place as an alternate Hermione had raised an eyebrow. The old house wasn’t exactly the most festive (or even pleasant) place she could think of. However, as she looked around now, she had to admit that Harry’s home looked a lot more inviting now that he had obviously put a lot of work into it.

The mounted plates of house-elf heads were gone, much to the relief of everyone, and Harry had finally managed to locate a spell to remove the giant portrait of Mrs Black. She currently resided in a sound proof box in attic, according to Harry, and wasn’t likely to see the light of day again anytime soon. Apart from that nearly every room had been ripped apart and redecorated, and almost all of the furniture had been sold off or scrapped. Hermione had helped Harry, Ron and Ginny with the whole process. The antiques and curiosities which had previously resided in the garish glass cabinets were either sold off or moved to a newly constructed cabinet in the library. Regulus’ locket took pride of place after Kreacher had died a few months after the war ended. Ron had joked that he would have been disappointed that Harry buried him with his head still attached. Hermione had to concede that he was probably right.

Now the bottom floor of the huge house was open and filled with the light of the magical lanterns floating overhead. It had taken them the best part of a month working on the house every evening after work. Harry had even joked that Hermione had seen more of his house than her own. She had shocked everyone with her decision to live on her own after the war. The boys had thought that she would move back in with her parents but she hadn’t felt comfortable slipping back into that routine after she had lived independently for over a year. After a few weeks helping her parents settle back into the life they had known before Australia she had bought her own little cottage on the edge of Hogsmead village. She got a fairly decent wage from the Ministry and it allowed her to live relatively comfortably. She didn’t need a lot, after all.

Mrs Weasley was fussing over drinks in the kitchen when Hermione entered. ‘Have you seen Harry?’ she yelled over the noise of nearly one hundred people in the rooms nearby.

‘No dear,’ the older woman answered, waving her wand at the punch on the stove.

‘He went upstairs a few minutes ago,’ Ginny said from over the cups of butterbeer she was pouring. She gave Hermione a significant look and gestured to the cups with a roll of her eyes.

I’ll go, Hermione mouthed and the redhead nodded.

They both knew were Harry would be. Ginny was good for Harry, Hermione smiled as she climbed the stairs silently. Better than she had expected, actually. After the war they had embarked on a remarkably quick progression from dating to engaged, finally marrying only a few months previously. Hermione knew that there were certain people who thought that it had all been so fast and too soon after the war but she did not subscribe to this argument. She knew, as did the Weasley family and most of their friends, how much the young coupled loved each other. They had spent a year apart, not knowing if the other was still alive. After that, Harry had told Hermione the night he proposed, they didn’t want to be apart much longer.

That was not to say that Harry had forgotten about the war entirely, Hermione was aware that he was still anguished by his decisions in the past but Ginny made sure that he didn’t lose himself in his grief. Maybe Hermione should have taken a few lessons from her, she though wryly, as she herslef seemed to have inherited Harry’s predisposition for self-criticism.

She knocked the door softly. ‘Harry, can I come in?’

He didn’t answer but she opened the door anyway. This was the room they had kept for ‘storage’, in reality it was a room full of things that Harry couldn’t bear to get rid of. The scantily clad girls on the muggle posters still hung on the wall and the room was still an homage to red and gold. This was the room that had belonged to Sirius and his godson sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through an old photo album.

He looked up as Hermione entered and gave her a tired smile. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ she made her way over to sit next to Harry, leaning a head on his shoulder as she looked at the photo he was currently examining. It must have been taken at his parents’ wedding, four young men in the formal attire. They smiled for the camera and the younger Sirius gave a passing bridesmaid a cheeky wink as James and Peter laughed and Remus rolled his eyes.

‘They looking for me downstairs?’ Harry asked, closing the album with a sigh.

‘Not yet, but it’ll be midnight soon.’ Hermione nudged his arm gently. ‘I think your wife might be worried about missing her kiss.’

‘Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t anything about you wanting to escape Lavender then?’ His eyes sparkled.

‘No, not at all,’ Hermione denied with sarcasm. ‘I’m happy for Ron, really. I just don’t know why it had to be her.’

‘Aw, Hermy,’ Harry mocked, ‘it’ll get better.’

‘Get stuffed, Potter,’ she growled, eyes narrowing playfully. She had been worried that Harry was brooding but he seemed fine, she didn’t need to ask him to measure that. It was obvious that he still missed Sirius but it didn’t seem to be quite as suffocating for him now as it once had been. ‘I suppose we had better get back down there.’

Harry nodded, opening the door and allowing her to pass through first. ‘Am I being an awful host or is Molly coping?’

‘No, she’s ranting about how you’re the worst son-in-law she’s ever had.’ Hermione rolled her eyes at him, ‘You know Molly, she’s in her element. All you have to do is the midnight countdown.’

‘Speaking of,’ Harry said, as they reached the bottom of the stairs, ‘I would try and get as far away from McLaggen as possible.’

‘You invited Cormac McLaggen?’ she despaired as Harry nodded, looking sheepish. She chuckled slightly from the memories that came flooding back to her. She wouldn’t exactly rate the last party she had attended with him as a roaring success. ‘I’ll consider myself warned, though you may want to warn him that I won’t be accountable for my actions if he comes near me. Just because I’ve been single for over a year does not mean that I’m willing to stoop so low.’

‘Again,’ Harry added in an undertone before making his excuses and running off to find Ginny. Hermione glared after him playfully. She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad with Harry, just like she couldn’t really be angry at Ron for dating Lavender. Those boys were her brothers, she loved them unconditionally.

‘So Granger,’ she groaned as the arm went round her shoulders, ‘it would appear that you are need of a knight in shining armour to rescue from dragon-breath, McLaggen.’

‘Keep dreaming, Weasley,’ she joked, peeling the arm off her gently, but looping her own through the crook of his elbow, ‘and I never called him “dragon-breath”, George.’

The trouble-maker extraordinaire grinned widely, ‘No but I slipped a Pungent Pepper Pelt into his Firewhiskey so if he wasn’t before he will be now.’

‘Lovely,’ she commented as Harry took his place halfway up the staircase with Ginny, ready to lead the countdown. It was only then that she saw the man in question walking her direction. ‘Oh no,’ she muttered.

George grinned. ‘Betcha I’m looking like a pretty good option now, Granger.’

‘Oh, shut up George.’ She glanced around the party, ‘Where’s Verity? I thought you were asking her to be your date tonight.’

The tips of his ears went red. ‘She, er, she said she didn’t want it to affect our working relationship.’

Hermione could understand that but George and Verity had been dancing around the tension between them for months now. She saw it every time she visited the shop on her lunch break. They bickered like an old married couple about everything. ‘Sorry, George, she’ll come round.’

‘Too right,’ he said as Harry started talking, ‘so no matter how good this kiss is, you better not go getting too attached, Granger.’

Hermione snickered. ‘Whatever you say, dear.’

They listened to Harry give his thanks to all the party goers and to his future mother-in-law. Hermione watched with the rest of the guests as the clock struck midnight before George planted a particularly sloppy kiss on her cheek before pulling her into a tight hug.

She didn’t stay long after that. She said her goodbyes to Harry and Ron (and, unfortunately, Lavender), hugged Ginny and reassured George one last time that, though he was a “wonderfully talented, incredibly witty and bloody gorgeous” man, there was no risk of her falling in love with him after their New Year’s kiss, and finally she was one her way home.

The silence that greeted her as she stepped out of the floo was both comforting after the noise of the party and slightly lonely. She was used to it now though, Hermione reflected as flicked her wand to change the date on her calendar. Maybe she should make some New Year’s resolutions? Maybe this year would be different.

/-/

When he woke up it was freezing. Literally. There was ice on the windows and a flutter of snow was blowing in thrown the small hole in the rotted wooden wall.

Despite the pain that shot through his body with every movement, he was awake now. Despite it being only a few days away from Christmas, it hadn’t been snowing last night. He hauled himself to his feet and went in search of the clothes he had left on the tattered bed. They weren’t there. He swore under his breath. Surely he hadn’t been that restless last night that he had torn them up? But, no there were no scraps of cloth lying about. It was only when he went to lift his wand from the dressing table that he really started to panic. It wasn’t there either.

There was no way he had recovered from his transformation in the few hours that he had slept but Remus Lupin was fully awake now. He had no clothes, no wand. What was going on? He pulled open the wardrobe, grateful that he had always left a spare change of clothes there for just such an emergency. They weren’t the clothes he thought he had left, he thought as he pulled on the threadbare grey trousers and worn blue shirt, but they would do. Thankfully there was a pair of shoes there as well (although he didn’t recall even buying them) but no socks. He wasn’t worried about socks, though. His wand was missing.

He would have to walk to Hogsmead, he thought with a grimace. It wasn’t that far but it would a long enough walk in his condition. It would also raise questions about why Remus Lupin was emerging from the Shrieking Shack the morning after the full moon and why he was covered in cuts and...

It would be best not to think about it and just to start walking, he thought as he buttoned every single button the full-sleeved shirt had in an effort to cover as much skin as possible. It was fortunate that, due to his condition, he had a temperature a few degrees hotter than most people, otherwise he would freeze in this weather.

The snow was still swirling as he made his way silently down the path and into the village. It was eerily quiet for so late in the morning, Remus reflected. It must have been almost eleven and there were still no signs of life from any of the shops. At least, no signs visible from where he walked down the narrow, sloping path from the Shrieking Shack to the residential side of the village. He would go to the Three Broomsticks, he decided, and see if Rosmerta would let him use her floo to get home. She had always been kind to him when he visited here as a student at Hogwarts.

But that meant having to walk through the lanes of houses in order to get to the bar. He hoped that there was nobody out in the streets but no sooner had he reached the little cottage that stood on the very outskirts of the village than he saw a figure coming towards him. He didn’t like to be so exposed, unarmed, but Remus knew that ducking out of the way would raise more suspicion than simply continuing on his path. He didn’t look to threatening anyway, carrying a bag full of books in one hand and what looked like a bag full of groceries in the other. He appeared not to really be paying attention to where he was going either until he reached the gate of the cottage and set one of his bags down to open the latch. Remus heard the crunch of snow under his own feet and winced as the man turned to look at him.

Remus felt his eyes widening as he took in the previously unknown man before him. It took him only two seconds to work out who he was, however impossible it may seem. This wasn’t James, although the likeness was uncanny, but with the emerald green eyes and the red scar on his forehead there was only one possibility for the identity of the grown man in front of him.

‘Bloody hell,’ Harry (for obviously Harry it had to be) whispered, dropping the bag of books on the ground.

Under the scrutiny of his green eyes, Remus felt unable to move. How was this possible? Harry was only a child, not this man before him who looked to be old enough to have left school. And it appeared that he knew him, Remus reflected. He was looking at him like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

‘Harry! I thought I saw you at the...’

Remus turned to find the woman speaking. She was standing in the doorway of the cottage, clad in jeans and a knitted red jumper with furry slippers of her feet. She obviously hadn’t been expecting the visitor but it was Remus who appeared to causing the pure shock on her face. Her mouth hung open slightly as she gaped at him.

‘I...’ she stepped towards them slightly. She stopped and turned her head as voices sounded in the distance. She appeared panicked as she turned to the two men. ‘You had better get inside.’

Remus didn’t question her. In all honesty, he was too shocked at the sight of Harry to do anything but go where he was led. He followed the young woman into the house, jumping slightly as Harry closed the door behind them.

‘I’m sorry, could you just..?’ The woman offered him a small smile as apparently-Harry dragged her down the hall to the second door on the right. He stared at Remus the whole way.

Remus stood awkwardly for a few seconds before he went through the first door on the right, which had been left open. As he predicted it was a small living room, with cream carpet and walls and a deep purple leather sofa and armchair. The room was slightly chilled and didn’t look terribly welcoming. This obviously wasn’t a room often used, Remus noted as he took into account the very fine layer of dust on top of the table. The ‘Good Room’ his mother would have called it.

Most wizards didn’t know that those who suffered from lycanthropy had heightened senses. Remus had never felt the need to point it out to anyone before but now he could hear every word being hissed between the two people in the next room.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do I!’ The woman sighed. ‘What do we do?’

‘I could take him back to...’

‘No! Absolutely not. That will raise far too many questions about...’

‘He already knows who I am ‘Mione, he has to.’

Remus listened as they anticipated the ends of each other’s thoughts. They must be very close, he thought, to be able to communicate as they did. But it was infuriating for him, though he knew that he shouldn’t be listening Remus found himself frustrated that they were speaking in rapid, unfinished sentences.

‘He can stay here,’ the woman’s voice said in what sounded like a weary tone, ‘I’ll write to work and ask for some leave. They’ll survive without me for a while and Merlin knows I’ve got enough days saved up.’

‘Alright.’ Harry agreed quietly. ‘What do we tell him?’

‘Nothing,’ the woman’s voice was surprisingly harsh. ‘I know he’s bound to hear...’ All went silent, as if a thought had suddenly come to her unbidden.

He heard the footsteps approaching and he smiled sheepishly at the pair as they reappeared around the corner.

‘I, uh. Do you know me?’ He asked, unable to come up with any other explanation for their conversation.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ the woman replied.

‘We know a different version of you,’ Harry elaborated, to the apparent dismay of his companion as she hissed at him. ‘It’s not like we can hide it,’ he whispered back, ‘all you have to do is look outside.’

Remus saw her eyes slip past him to the window and the woman groaned. ‘Proceed,’ she said, sounding weary.

‘We don’t know how it’s happened,’ Harry continued, ‘but I’m assuming it wasn’t the millennium last time you checked.’

What? Remus felt his mouth go dry. ‘No, it was 1988.’


	3. Chapter 2

**1 January 2000**

This couldn’t be happening. When she had gone to sleep last night her biggest worry was George and his ridiculous antics. Now, she had a twenty-seven or twenty-eight (yes, she had worked it out) year old version of her former professor sitting in her living room while she and Harry stared at him and silently communicated their absolute terror at his appearance. What did it mean?

‘How... I mean, what...’ Hermione watched as he sat down heavily on the armchair. ‘I don’t understand.’

He was running his hands through his hair, the way Harry did when he was frustrated. Hermione wondered if it was a trait he had picked up from James, as Sirius was always sure that was where Harry had got it. Was it possible that the habit had rubbed off on Remus?

She pulled herself from such musings and sat down on the sofa opposite him. What were they going to tell him? How was this even possible? Harry sat beside her and she grabbed his hand without hesitation, trying to communicate her fear about the consequences of whatever they did now with that simple contact. He squeezed back gently, still assessing the Remus Lupin who was muttering under his breath.

‘We don’t know what’s happening,’ Harry confessed and Hermione watched as the other man’s eyes instantly snapped back to their faces. ‘All we know is that, well, you’re here.’

Harry wasn’t explaining this very well, Hermione mused. She found herself interjecting, knowing Harry hated her doing so but unable to hold her tongue. ‘It’s probably best if you keep all human contact to a bare minimum,’ she said slowly, ‘people are sure to recognise you, Pr- Remus,’ Harry shot her a nervous look that she hoped Remus didn’t notice, ‘we don’t know what sort of magic we are dealing with here, so it’s probably best if you stay here for the time being. Obviously Harry and I have already seen you, so that can’t be helped but...’

She was aware that she was inviting a man she only partially knew to stay in her house with her, alone, but Hermione couldn’t see any other solution. She knew that they needed to keep Remus from making contact with anyone who could let information about his future slip and she had already proven how easy it was to do. She had nearly called him ‘Professor’. It was an easy mistake to make, she knew, he didn’t appear all that different to the man she had known. He was younger, certainly, with less grey hairs, less lines and scars, and he was flustered, an expression she didn’t remember ever seeing on his face before, but he was the same man. It was undeniable and she knew that other people would see it too.

He raised him amber eyes to look between them, eventually resting on Harry’s face. ‘Harry Potter?’

‘Er, yeah.’ Harry said nervously, ‘I know, I look like my dad, it’s bound to be strange for you.’

‘Not your eyes,’ Remus mumbled and Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand.

‘Mum’s eyes,’ he nodded, ‘everyone always said so.’

‘And you are?’

Hermione looked at him with a sort of wariness. She knew that if she told this Remus her name it might end up having horrible consequences if and when he was pulled back to his own time. But if he was to stay here, in her house, then he was bound to find it out anyway. He may even have seen it on the enveloped lying on her hall table or worked it out from Harry’s affectionate nickname for her that had come out of an incredibly drunken night at the end of the war wherein he proclaimed that ‘Hermione’ had always made her sound older than she was and they deserved to be young and carefree now. The hangovers they had shared with Ron and Ginny had faded the next day but, for some reason, ‘’Mione’ had stuck.

‘My name is Hermione Granger,’ she said, smiling slightly. ‘You don’t know me, my parents are muggles.’

Remus simply nodded, his eyes looking through her, clearly lost in his own thoughts again.

Another thought had occurred to her as she remembered the origin of her nickname. ‘Harry, should we get R and G involved?’

Harry seemed to understand her reluctance to use their names, even if Remus didn’t appear to be listening right now. ‘R’s away with work for a few weeks, remember, he said they were making it a working holiday.’ Hermione nodded, remembering this conversation and the eye rolls that she had shared with Ginny. Ron had offered to make it a group holiday but neither of them had wanted two weeks full of Lavender Brown. Small doses, Ginny had said, they could take her only in small doses.

‘We should tell her, though.’ Harry continued, ‘I don’t think we could keep it from her.’ Hermione smiled. Of course Harry wouldn’t want to keep it from her. ‘Maybe Remus could stay with us if...’

‘No,’ Hermione said quickly, ‘Remus shouldn’t stay in your house.’ She dug her nails lightly into his hand to try and convey her meaning. It would tough trying to explain to Remus why exactly Harry was living in the former home of a convicted murderer never mind possibly raising the issue that said person was reprieved of the crimes he was accused of two years after his death.

‘Oh,’ Harry said, understanding passing over his face, ‘right.’

‘Remus?’ Hermione asked tentatively. His eyes immediately snapped back to her face and she could see the fear and panic that he obviously tried so hard to mask. She couldn’t imagine what she would do in his situation. ‘We would like you to stay here. I’m sorry but the less contact you have with the rest of the world the better. Until we find out what’s going on, at least.’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t ask you...’

‘You didn’t,’ she said quietly, trying to soften her tone from the harsh bite she knew had infected it earlier. She never meant to be harsh but Hermione knew that she often came across much harder than she intended. She moved just a fraction of an inch to touch his hand in reassurance but then stopped herself. Bad idea, she thought, don’t mess with time travel magic.

Harry seemed to notice her slight movement. ‘Why don’t I show you up to the guest bedroom?’

Remus nodded and Harry shot Hermione a look over his shoulder. After all these years of being friends they were skilled at reading each other with only a glance. I really hope you’re okay with this, ‘Mione.

Hermione sighed to herself as the men walked up the stairs. I suppose I just have to be.

It was only a few minutes before they returned back downstairs. Hermione was putting the last of her slightly mangled offerings from Harry away in the kitchen. He was lucky she had all her books charmed to withstand damage, there might have been a pretty serious row otherwise. She remembered the cause of those charms. Ron had split pumpkin juice all over one of her books at school the fallout had been catastrophic when he had refused to acknowledge why she was so upset. It had been almost a week before she spoke to him again.

She was just putting the kettle on to boil when Harry came in to offer her a hand. Well, that was his pretext anyway, what he really wanted to know was if Hermione would be alright on her own for five minutes while he ran home to gather up some clothes to lend Remus.

Hermione had nodded her consent as she searched through the cupboard for some biscuits, sure that she had seen some another day.

‘So you’ll keep me a cup of tea and a bickie, then?’ he asked, his casual tone concealing the worry on his face.

Hermione laughed lightly. ‘Why, Ginny not feed you properly?’

Harry scowled. It was well known that, domestic goddess as she was, Ginerva Potter’s cooking was... interesting. It was the reason why, even though her cottage was the smallest of their houses, group dinners were often hosted by Hermione. Harry was a fair cook, but any time he tried, Ginny wanted to help. That was when you ended up bent over the toilet all night. Bless her, Hermione thought, no wonder Harry cooks here on group nights. She supposed that those plans were cancelled for tonight.

‘Yes, yes, I’ll see you in a few minutes.’

Hermione was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn’t register Harry’s return ten minutes later until she had him stuck to the wall with a particularly well-placed hex. She apologised profusely and helped him to the fireplace, though he insisted that he would be able to disapparate Hermione felt intensely guilty at his limp and the way he was holding… well, she didn’t exactly want to look where he was holding.

She took the bag of clothes off him and waved him off home. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she told him, ‘be more worried about yourself!’

And Remus still hadn’t reappeared.

Hermione steeled her nerves and grabbed a mug from the kitchen as well as the clothes Harry had left. She was half way up the stairs before she realised that she didn’t know if Remus had always taken his tea with milk and one sugar but he would probably drink it anyway. Remus Lupin had always been too much of a gentleman for his own good by all accounts.

Hermione knocked the door of the guest room softly but was greeted with silence. Quietly she pushed the door open and peeked inside.

Remus was spread out on the bed fast asleep. It was obvious that the emotional toll of events had drained him but, as Hermione noticed an angry red line where his sleeve had ridden up his arm slightly, she wondered if that exhaustion was still physical too.

He would need to take some potion, she thought, but how could she offer it to him without bringing up his lycanthropy? She eyed his tea speculatively. The mug wasn’t full yet. Summoning a small vial from her bathroom cabinet she tipped the odourless, tasteless liquid into the mug. The mild painkiller wasn’t the best that she could have done but it was up to Remus whether he told her about his illness or not, she decided. She placed a warming charm on the mug and left it on top of the dresser with the bag of clothes.

For now, she would let him sleep.

/-/

When he awoke Remus was considerably warmer and more comfortable than he had been the last time. Though still sore, he noted as he stood, and still none the wiser as to how he came to be here.

He had travelled twelve years into the future and he had no idea how.

Or why exactly the woman who introduced herself as Hermione Granger had been willing to open her home to him. She said that she knew him in this world, in the future, and he had to assume that it was through Harry that they met. Remus had petitioned for the right to see his friends’ son only a few weeks ago and had been denied access by the ministry because of his lycanthrophy. Maybe now that Harry was an adult that had changed.

Which led him to the obvious conclusion that the witch who was allowing him to stay in her house was completely oblivious to his condition. Harry he wasn’t certain about and so he would have to tread cautiously with both of them, just to be on the safe side.

It was dark outside, as he looked out of the windows at the swirling snow, but that did nothing as to indicate what time it might be. Listening carefully he couldn’t hear any signs of Hermione moving about in the house but she might be asleep or simply inactive. He was just about to leave the room when he noticed the piece of parchment that had been pushed under his door. The neat, slightly leaning writing delivering only a few short phrases.

Cup of tea and clothes on top of dresser. Feel free to use bathroom, toiletries in bag by sink.

With a tense smile Remus wondered if the woman was trying to tell him something about his personal hygiene before dismissing the idea. The impression he had got of her was one of a kind soul but he remembered the caution that surrounded her. To another person she might have appeared cold but Remus recognised the signs of protecting secrets and, as frustrated as he was sure it would make him, he knew her reasons. He had never devoted much effort to the study of time-travel at school but from what he did know Remus was aware that it was an extremely complicated business. Even the slightest knowledge of the future could alter his entire life. And so, with no money and no wand, he should simply be grateful that Hermione Granger was allowing him to stay here.

Remus picked up the bag of clothes from the dresser and chose a pair of trousers and a t-shirt at random. He found himself blushing profusely at the new packet of boxer shorts that had been included in the bag, wondering if that had been Hermione’s suggestion or Harry’s. He very much hoped it had been the latter.

/-/

Twenty minutes, a shower and a shave later, Remus pulled on a jumper to cover his arms and went downstairs in search of Hermione. As he reached the bottom step he could hear the faint rustling of pages from the room adjacent to the living room. The door was slightly ajar but Remus knocked anyway, entering only when he heard her voice call out to him.

His mouth fell open at the sight that greeted him.

Two of the four walls were covered in bookshelves, all full to the brim with books on magical theory, practical application and even muggle literature. He noted with a smile that Hermione had them arranged into subject and then by author name. The wall at the front of the house was taken up largely by a huge window, complete with a cushioned window seat. Ideal for reading on a summer’s day, he thought, but probably quite cold now. Against the opposite wall there was a wooden desk with papers in neat little piles and several quills and muggle pens lying on it. The wall also housed a flat, black rectangle which didn’t appear to be a picture but the rest of the wall was absolutely covered in wooden-framed photographs of Hermione and her friends. Many of them featured herself and Harry, and another boy with red hair but some of the others had more unfamiliar faces in them. As he noticed the empty spaces where frames had been before Remus realised that Hermione had probably taken them down to hide them from him.

In the very middle of the room was a coffee table between two comfortable looking sofas. It was on one of these that Hermione was sitting, a book open on her lap and a notepad and pen sitting on the coffee table. It was strange that she should revert to muggle methods after seven years at Hogwarts, Remus thought, but then he supposed that writing with the pens he had seen them use was easier than having a quill and an ink well.

‘I thought you would like my library,’ her voice offered from her place on the seat. Remus stared at her. There it was again, that familiarity that she seemed to have with him. He nodded silently and obliged her when she invited him to have a seat. ‘Feel free to look around,’ she said, lowering her book to study him, ‘this is your home for as long as you stay here.’

Despite her earlier caution Remus couldn’t help but be impressed and humbled by her generosity. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, ‘though I don’t know how to repay you.’

The self-deprecating smirk that appeared on her face lasted only a second before she adopted a more neutral expression. ‘Don’t worry about that, Remus.’ She placed her book on the table and lifted her mug of tea to her lips, her eyes studying him slowly. ‘I don’t see the point in dancing around the subject but we need to talk about how you got here and what we’re going to do now.’

Though slightly shocked by her forwardness Remus couldn’t help but be encouraged by the fact that she said ‘we’. Whatever was going on he now had an ally.


	4. Chapter 3

**2 January 2000**

The next morning Hermione decided to make pancakes. She had always been an early riser and so, with no signs of life from her guest, she had readied herself for the day and set about making breakfast.

It had been a late night, last night, she reflected. In the early evening Remus had found her in the library, already reading up on the history of time-travel. She had studied the theory a little in third year, after all, but Hermione had never heard of a person simply waking up in another time. And that was how he described it, she thought, though she had to wonder if his transformation had had anything to do with it. Though he still had not mentioned it Hermione was sure that it had been the morning after the full moon when Remus had left 1988.

‘I just woke up and found myself here,’ he had repeated over and over again. Hermione knew that he was trying to hide his darkest secret from her. He had probably been in the Shrieking Shack, she though now, that would explain why he was coming into the village from that direction.

Smiling, she remembered Remus agreeing to help her research. ‘Whatever I can do to help.’ He had no idea what he was letting himself in for, she mused, thinking of all the books she had on the subject. ‘Note: Compile list’, she enunciated in a clear voice. And that was only from her own library, Hermione thought, she would have to write to Minerva this morning and ask her permission to borrow a few titles from the Hogwarts Restricted books. The headmistress would agree, she knew, and they had a better chance of finding the information they needed there than anywhere else. ‘Note: Owl Minerva.’

Except perhaps the Special Collections housed at the Ministry, she thought as she flipped the pancakes. They might have a few books on the subject. It would be a longer process to gain access to them, there would be red tape galore, but as one of the members of the Regeneration Project and a celebrated war hero Hermione couldn’t imagine that they would deny her access. ‘Note: Owl Kingsley.’

She flipped the pancakes out onto a wire cake stand to cool while she reached into the cupboard for plates.

‘Who are you talking to?’

Hermione jumped a little at his voice but forced a smile for her guest as he walked into the kitchen. Remus was still wearing full sleeves, she noted, but he had obviously just woken up. His eyes were still slightly bleary and his hair was simply a mess as he ran his hand through it before scrubbing at his newly shaved jaw.

Suddenly aware that she hadn’t answered his question Hermione gestured to the pad of dark blue notepaper on the refrigerator door. A list of phrases were written in white: Compile list. Owl Minerva. Owl Kingsley. ‘Harry got me it for my last birthday,’ she explained, ‘he knows that I often remember something suddenly and then forget it again. This way I can make a note of it quickly. It only works in the house, though,’ she noted, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask him if he’ll buy me another one for work.’

Remus accepted the plate she passed him and they sat down to eat. ‘Where do you work?’

‘At the Ministry,’ Hermione hedged, ‘but I’m taking a few weeks holiday right now.’ She saw his cheeks colour at that and hastily tried to cover her minor blunder. ‘After two years with no time off I was due a break.’

He smiled a weak smile and dug into his pancakes without comment, Hermione noticed. He only spoke again to thank her for breakfast and offered to do the washing up. Hermione flicked her wand at the sink instead and lead him into the library. She noticed the slight crease that developed between his eyes at that and realised that she would have to talk to Harry about buying him a new one while he was with them. Even in this calmer climate she didn’t like the idea of leaving Remus defenceless. ‘Note: Owl Harry.’

‘Now,’ she said, surveying the bookshelves in front of her. ‘Let’s get started.’

/-/

The morning was spent compiling lists and sending owls. Hermione had to make sure that she didn’t write Minerva’s title on her letter, it would raise entirely too many questions. By the time they had finished it was late in the afternoon and Hermione decided it would be best if she just made dinner now and then a light supper later.

She left Remus reading one of the books in her library as she threw some chicken into the pan and set the spoon to look after it for her. She concentrated on chopping up the vegetables and tried not to think about the man next door.

It was such a strange experience, having him here. On one hand he was exactly as Hermione had expected him to be, quiet and studious, shy and a little defensive, but she also realised that he was nothing like she had ever imagined him to ever be. Quite simply, Remus John Lupin was a good looking man.

She had never been that type of girl, the little swot who had a crush on her teacher. But then… she had been a swot. Her mind was distracted by books and ideas so much that even her sometimes-feelings for Ronald had often got pushed aside. She had never thought of Remus as, well, as a man before. Though, she thought, probably in a very different way than most of their world. He had been a mentor, a friend of Harry’s parents and (later) the husband of Tonks. There was never any scope for her to ever see him in a romantic light.

It wasn’t even as if she had a crush on him now, Hermione told herself sternly. She was simply appreciating that Remus had been good looking. That was an awful thing to think, Hermione chastised herself, he was still relatively good looking when she had known him, he was just… older. There was no need for her to start thinking about him in such a manner just because this version of Remus happened to be closer to her own age.

Unceremoniously dumping the vegetables into the pan along with some noodles and sauce Hermione didn’t hear Remus approach until he was right behind her. She knew he could probably hear the way her heart accelerated rapidly in surprise.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered quietly when she jumped.

‘It’s alright,’ Hermione reassured him as he placed the book he had been holding on the sideboard.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘No, thank-you anyway.’

He unnerved her, Hermione decided as she frowned at the spoon, which was mixing in all the ingredients. The familiarity between them was deceptive and she couldn’t trust it. It was all in her own head anyway, and it wasn’t like she could say that she had really been close with the older Remus that she had known.

But you were still distraught when he died, the niggling voice (the one that sounded very much like a certain bespectacled, black haired wizard) told her. And she had been. There were so many they had lost, it didn’t bear thinking about.

And she couldn’t, especially not with this Remus in the house. She knew that he would have to return to his own time for her to have ever met him and she couldn’t let him carry back any information about his future, her past. That was why she had hastily shipped some of her photographs off to Harry and Ginny. The copies she had of Harry with Sirius or any containing the members of the Order together had been sent away, lest Remus see them and deduce something about the future. The only photographs remaining were those of herself with Harry and Ron or some of their classmates.

As she flicked her wand at the pan and transferred the food into two bowls she tried to adopt a more neutral expression, hoping that Remus hadn’t seen her worry and grief.

/-/

While she had been cooking their dinner in the afternoon Remus had followed her into the kitchen. He didn’t like being alone in her house but, more importantly, he wondered how often she found herself here alone. She had said that she was taking a holiday from work at the moment and he knew that Harry came to visit her but he wondered why Hermione seemed content enough to stay in the house studying time-travel with him rather than be out somewhere with her friends.

As it was she had spent the whole day yesterday researching quietly alongside him, making a few notes when she found anything that might possibly be of relevance. Apart from the short break for dinner they had worked well into the evening before Hermione had decided to call it a night and declared that Remus should feel free to do what he liked. The evident trust that she had in him was disconcerting, to say the least. She shouldn’t trust someone like him.

And yet, she did. He looked over to where Hermione was sitting on the opposite sofa, surrounded by books yet again. Like the day before she had appeared in the morning wearing jeans and a jumper, but today she had a muggle pen already tucked behind her right ear and her wand jammed into the messy bun she had styled at the back of her neck. She had greeted him cheerfully, handing him a cup of tea and some toast absolutely slathered with blackberry jam. He didn’t know how she knew things like that about him. How could she ever have found out what he had been eating for breakfast since he was a boy?

But, as bizarre as he found it, even though Hermione was a complete stranger... it had been a long time since anyone had shown him that sort of familiar kindness and attention.

/-/

The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent in the library.

Again they worked in relative quiet, interrupted only when one would finish a book of scribble down a note on the still-empty pieces of parchment that lay on the coffee table. From time to time Hermione would get up and make another pot of tea, bring in some more biscuits, stoke the fire. It seemed that, as comfortable as she was reading, she couldn’t sit still for too long.

It was only after dinner that Hermione announced that they had done enough studying for the day and that they were going to ‘watch telly’.

What that entailed, Remus soon found out, was watching moving pictures (much like when his mother had taken him to the picture house as a small boy) on the black rectangle on the wall and listen to Hermione dissecting plot lines.

Remus couldn’t help but smile with her as she laughed at one of the women’s attempts to pass off a new piece of furniture as an antique. ‘Yesteryear,’ she said wiping a tear from her eye, ‘good grief. “The days of yore”.’ And she was off again, her eyes tearing up with laughter. Remus just smiled at her. ‘You can’t deny it’s funny.’

‘No, it is,’ he said. ‘I just don’t really understand what’s going on with the antique woman and the man with the dark hair.’

‘Neither do the rest of us,’ she said conspiratorially, ‘they were on a break.’

Remus had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but decided to leave it be. Muggle technology was confusing enough to him without this ‘telly’ stuff as well.

‘And the blonde woman,’ he started before Hermione cut him off.

‘Phoebe.’

‘Yes. Well, what does she have against furniture bought from a retailer?’

Hermione shrugged, ‘She’s just quirky, I guess. Eccentric.’

‘People aren’t that eccentric in real life,’ he dismissed.

Hermione huffed a laugh, ‘Actually I know someone who could be her twin. Blonde hair and everything. But you’ll meet Luna someday.’

The comfortable conversation they had been sharing died down a little at this. Remus couldn’t help thinking that Hermione looked as if she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. ‘It’s alright, you know,’ he found himself saying before he could stop, ‘I know that I’m only here temporarily, I don’t mind talking about it.’

Her golden-brown eyes took in his face for a few moments. Remus wasn’t quite sure what it was Hermione was looking for, but as she smiled at him he knew she had found it. ‘Thank you, I never liked treading on eggshells around anyone.’ She gave him a small smirk that made him more than a little wary of her. ‘Harry always told me that I was too blunt with people. Blunt but tactful, mind you. Ron was always the one who needed a serve injection of tact.’

She was a fascinating creature, Remus thought as she went to make another pot of tea. He didn’t think he had ever met anyone like her before. He could see bits of Lily in her kindness, bits of James in the good humour she was currently enjoying. He could even see bits of himself in her quiet moments of self-deprecation but had no idea what made Hermione Granger tick. Nor why she would give up her hard earned holidays to babysit him and spend hours pouring over books for his benefit. She was a very unique young woman indeed.

‘I think the dark haired one reminds me of you a bit,’ he offered to her running commentary.

‘Who? Ross?’ The amusement was written over her face.

‘No, the woman, Monique?’

‘Oh, Monica!’ She laughed, ‘Ginny thinks so too. She even took to calling me Monica for a while, just to confuse our friends who didn’t own TVs.’ (Remus assumed that a ‘TV’ was the same thing as a ‘telly’.) ‘You know, I think you actually remind me of Chandler.’

Now it was his turn to be confused. ‘How so?’

All the teasing was gone from her face now. ‘You put yourself down too much, Remus. You don’t believe yourself possible of half what I know you’re capable of.’

He didn’t quite know how they kept going from the people on the box to philosophical reflections but Remus felt himself blushing at her words.

‘I think I’m going to go up to bed now,’ Hermione yawned as she clicked a button on the side of the box. ‘I can leave this on for you, if you want.’

Remus shook his head. ‘It’s fine, I wouldn’t know how to turn it off.’

‘I can show you,’ she offered.

‘Really, it’s alright,’ he reassured her, ‘I think I’m going to head upstairs now too.’

She nodded at him as she doused the fire with her wand.

‘Good night, Hermione,’ he offered as he went to leave the room. ‘Sweet dreams.’

He thought he saw a slight grimace on her face before she smiled and answered quietly, ‘Good night Remus.’


	5. Chapter 4

**11 January 2000**

Their pattern continued. Breakfast, research, lunch, research, dinner, television, bed. Before Hermione could register the days passing she looked at the calendar and realised that Remus had been in her house for over a week.

And still they had found nothing. There was no mention in any of Hermione’s book of anyone being sent forward in time, all mentions of time travelling was that of people being sent back. Luckily Minerva had answered her owl and allowed Hermione access to the library at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn’t told her about Remus. She hadn’t really expected the headmistress to accept her request of keeping both students and staff away from the library when Hermione had offered no explanation as to why this needed to be done but Minerva had reassured her that this would not be a problem, and had told Hermione to come and collect whatever books she required on the 10th.

She didn’t even need to ask for such measures, Hermione thought, but she knew that Remus had been cooped up in her house for too long. He never showed it, but it had to be driving him crazy. She would have to be careful getting them in and out, any of the professors who knew him was bound to recognise Remus. She neither had the time to make a batch of polyjuice potion nor the audacity to ask Remus to cast a glamour charm. Instead, she would just have to keep out of everyone’s way.

They had a three hour window, she knew, between breakfast and lunch, wherein all the students would be in class. Save for a few of the senior students, of course, but Hermione knew that so soon after the Christmas exams, none of them would have been studying in the library anyway.

She hadn’t told Remus about her plans until he came down to breakfast that morning. Hermione knew he had to have noted the lack of books left for them to scan over but he hadn’t asked her about it, obviously trusting that she knew what they were going to do next. That in itself was a little disconcerting, the Remus Hermione had known had never really relied on her for anything before. He had been the adult and she a mere child, but now his younger self was relying on her to find a way back to his own time. It was starting, she assessed as she watched him eat his toast, to give her a headache.

‘I have to go to Hogwarts this morning,’ she said as she sat opposite him, watching his reactions carefully. ‘Would you like to come with me?’

He looked startled at the question. ‘I thought… I mean, of course but… what happens if someone… sees me?’

Hermione stirred her tea slowly, keeping eye contact. ‘I’ll only be an hour or two, I’m only going to collect any promising looking books and bring them back here. There won’t be anyone in the library, I wrote to Minerva and she’s closed it off for the day. If we leave now all the students will be in class until after we leave.’ He still looked a little hesitant and Hermione added, ‘You don’t have to come, of course, I just thought it might be nice to get out of the house for a bit.’

He was giving the idea serious consideration, Hermione knew. They both knew that it could lead to potential disaster if anyone saw him. Then again, there hadn’t seemed to be any harm in both herself and Harry interacting with Remus, even if Harry had only been with him for a few minutes.

‘I would like that,’ he said eventually. ‘When do you want to leave?’

Hermione checked the clock over the stove. Mrs Weasley had given it to her as a housewarming gift. It was made by the same wizard as the grandfather clock in the Burrow, Molly had told her, but since Hermione lived alone the traditional, golden hands on the pale wooden face showed the time while the silver hands tracked the occupant’s energy levels. Currently, Hermione noted with a smile, her own was wavering between ‘energetic’ and ‘enthusiastic’, the hand featuring a curling ‘RL’ was stuck firmly on ‘another five minutes, please’. Clearly he wasn’t quite awake yet.

‘About five minutes?’ she asked with a quiet snicker. Remus probably didn’t understand her amusement but she didn’t share it with him, leaving the room briefly to retrieve the beaten and scarred beaded bag from her wardrobe. She had cleared it out after the end of the war, thank goodness, and all that remained it in were some emergency supplies. She supposed that that was part of the lingering result of what she had lived through. A new tent, a purse full of assorted wizarding and muggle coins, some healing draughts, a few tins of food and a can opener, a change of clothes and some toiletries, broomstick. All magically shrunk and rattling about in the bottom of the bag. She would just have to put the books in on top of them, she thought. There was no way she was leaving the house without her provisions.

‘Hermione?’

The voice calling up the stairs pulled her from her morbid thoughts of ever having to use said supplies. ‘I’ll be down in a second.’

Attaching the bag to her belt she threw he thick burgundy travelling cloak around her shoulders and prepared to set off.

/-/

If one enters Hogwarts this way it’s like nothing ever happened, Hermione mused as Remus swore after (yet again) hitting his head off an outcropping of rock.

She had been too scared to take him up the main drive, fearing that he might catch a glimpse of the marble tomb, or see the still-healing scars on the castle walls. Instead, she took him through the passage under Honeydukes (after promising to buy a considerable amount of chocolate on the way back to placate the shop’s owners) and Remus had expressed surprise that she even knew it existed.

‘Harry is a Potter, after all,’ was all she had said on the matter. She didn’t imagine that Remus himself had used the tunnel very much, due to his near constant stream of foul language (that she was almost positive he thought she couldn’t hear, she could never remember his older self even using mild expletives) and the fact that he had already ended up on his arse twice. While he had obviously known about the passage, it was obviously the other three boys who had gone on the raids for Cockroach Clusters and Blood Suckers.

Finally they were in the stone corridors of Hogwarts and Hermione had lead the way to the library with as much haste as she could manage without seeming terribly rude.

The next while was spent scanning the shelves of the Hogwarts library for any book that seemed like it would be even remotely associated with time-travel. When they had finished with the readily accessible shelves, they turned to the Restricted Section. Here the titles were more grim and foreboding than Any Wizard’s Guide to Time. The Consequences of Time Travel and Dire Warnings from the Present-Past were the most pleasant of these and, as Hermione stuffed The Issue of Aging and Dislocation of Bodily Parts in Time Travel into her bag, she became aware that Remus was staring at one of the new bookcases on the opposite wall.

She knew what it contained, had been there when Minerva had asked her to help choose the titles that would be relegated to this section. The title Dangerous Creatures: The Werewolf Menace in Contemporary Britain glared at her from its brown leather binding. Hermione watched silently as Remus scanned over the books that she knew had been readily available to all students when he had attended the school. Nothing good could ever come from such things being available to impressionable first years, she thought, Remus probably even read it himself when he was a student. She further wondered how much of his opinion of himself had been so influenced.

‘Remus?’ she called quietly, not wishing him to know that she had caught what he was staring at. He didn’t respond and Hermione walked over to him slowly.

The deceptive familiarity was at full force when Hermione came up beside him and silently gripped his hand briefly. It was an action that was routine with Harry or Ron (and, indeed, had led to many speculations in the Daily Prophet about her relationship with them by the blasted Skeeter woman) but as Remus wrenched his hand away in what seemed to be pure shock, she realised that to him it was anything but routine.

Her hand tingled, a faint reminder of the energy she had felt moments earlier when they had touched skin to skin and wondered if it was a result of the magic that had brought him here. She murmured a quick apology before chancing a quick glance at Remus.

He looked completely stunned. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared at his hand wordlessly.

As Hermione watched him immense guilt flooded through her. That one simple touch had probably been the most human contact Remus had had in over seven years. She had never asked him about his life after the war when she had known him but from sly hints and guarded responses she had heard in his conversations with Sirius Hermione knew what that time had been like for him.

Essentially, Remus had isolated himself from the whole world. The trauma of his friends’ deaths had affected him deeply. The only people to not judge him because of his condition were gone. Sirius had always mocked him for not having dated from the time he was sixteen until Tonks came along but Hermione had always recognised a far deeper pain. Remus had gone without any sort of physical affection from the death of his friends until Sirius had hugged him in the Shrieking Shack when they were reunited. For twelve years he had had no human contact whatsoever. The Remus who stood before her now was seven years into that that period of his life and Hermione had broken that law of time. She had touched him.

He didn’t, of course, know that she was aware of his condition. He had never initiated the conversation but, standing in front of those volumes filled with hate and prejudice, Hermione wished that she could tell him she knew. She wished that he knew that she didn’t think any less of him.

/-/

It had only been a moment of contact but Remus found himself staring at Hermione like an idiot. As soon as they had touched it was like a searing heat had run through his blood. The whole of his body felt like it was electrified. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, even as innocently as she had done.

She had clearly meant nothing by it, simply a reminder that she was there. He had been too busy staring at the bookcase to even notice her approach. Which reminded him…

‘Sorry, it’s just, these books were in the main library when I was last here.’ His excuse covered his distraction without giving away exactly why he found it so shocking that they had been moved. He had read most of them and, truth be told, so had many other students when he went to Hogwarts. Why would they be moved now, he wondered, after all those years?

‘Yes,’ he just registered her voice saying as she turned back to the books she was gathering for them, ‘those shelves were put in a few months ago.’

Remus didn’t reply, he was still too preoccupied with the feeling of sparks running through his arm. It was only when Hermione asked him if he had found anything promising that he snapped out of it, shaking his head contritely. He had been too distracted, he knew, and it was bound to make her suspicious if he couldn’t snap out of it. It appeared that he had been lost in his own thoughts long enough that Hermione had been able to scan the entire section without him.

‘Let’s go home,’ she whispered. Remus had a feeling that she would have taken his hand again if not for his reaction last time. Her own hand twitched slightly before she dropped it to her side, simply turning and walking away. He was really quite glad. Even though he knew that his disease couldn’t be spread by such contact Remus was terrified that if she touched him again she might see something in his reaction to her. The whole way back to the house he remained several feet away from her at all times.

/-/

As promised Hermione had bought a considerable amount of chocolate on their way back through Honeydukes. When they had arrived home one of the first things she had done (after putting the books in the study, of course) was dump a full can of hot chocolate mixture into a pot. The smell of it filled the house and Remus could feel his mouth watering. Thankfully he did not have to wait long, as Hermione carried a tray with two mugs of the drink and assorted chocolate treats into the study a few minutes later, settling down for another afternoon of reading.

Even though they sat on different seats and never came into contact again the rest of the day, Remus found himself more aware of Hermione’s movements. Every time she turned a page or shifted slightly in her chair, his eyes followed her. It was ridiculous, really, to think that one innocent little contact could have this effect. Remus scoffed to himself and tried to tune her out.

He could not, however, ignore it when (quite a while after dinner) Hermione began to sink in her seat. He had mentioned the lateness of the hour a few times, but she had seemed determined to finish the book she was reading. It was only when said book dropped to the carpet with a muffled thump that he realised just how worn out she really was. She had been working so hard, he realised, and all for him. He didn’t want to wake her, and instead muttered a quiet levitating charm, transferring her out of the couch and up the stairs in a quick moment. Of course, he could have carried her himself, she was such a small little thing. But that would have meant touching her, and he wasn’t sure that that was the right thing to do. No, it was safer to use magic. Though he did reach over and pull her wand from the makeshift bun in her hair once he had got her onto her bed. Placing it gently on her bedside table and pulling up the blankets around her Remus backed out of the room, letting the tired young woman sleep for now.

/-/

He awoke to the sound of screaming. Some long forgotten reflex must have kicked in as Remus found himself on his feet before his mind had caught up to his body. The house was eerily silent until a new anguished sound came from somewhere outside his room. Wand in hand, Remus crept stealthily down the hall. He knew where the sounds were coming from.

He slowly pushed open the door, so as not to alert whoever was in there, torturing her. It was only when he had opened the door fully and stepped inside the room that he realised Hermione was alone.

The sheets of her bed were tangled around her legs and there was a light sheen of sweat on her skin, Remus noted. He could hear her heart thundering in her chest and she was clearly in distress over whatever she was seeing in her dreams. She thrashed against some invisible force and whimpered in apparent pain.

He knew it was bad luck to wake someone from such a dream but Remus felt completely helpless. Seeing Hermione in such pain was like a physical ache. Without conscious thought his feet led him to her bedside and he sat down on the edge of the mattress.

‘Hermione?’ he whispered gently, but she continued to sob in her sleep. Now that he was closer, however, Remus could hear words amongst the broken sounds.

‘No… no… not him… please…’

Tentatively he lifted a hand to brush her hair away from her face. Just like before, when he made connection with her skin he felt a sort of charge run through his fingertips. ‘It’s alright,’ he found him murmuring to her, ‘you’re safe.’ Her heartbeat slowed slightly at his touch and Remus continued to stroke her hair as the whimpers grew quieter and finally she stilled.

Her breathing had slowed and her heartbeat returned to normal but Remus had to wonder what had caused such an extreme reaction. He had suspected for some time now that there was some trauma in Hermione’s past but seeing her relive it was worse that he could possibly have imagined. What has she lived through, he thought as she continued to stroke her face absently, that she would suffer like this?

The room was cold and Remus could feel Hermione’s skin beginning to cool down. Gently he untangled the sheets from her legs and pulled them over her body once more. It was only then that he saw what she had managed to keep hidden from him until then. The light from the open door threw the white, raised skin on her forearm into sharp relief. Letters, he realised with sudden nausea. Deliberate, carved letters.

Mudblood.


	6. Chapter 5

**12 January 2000**

In her dreams, Hermione could only watch as Voldemort slowly tortured the people she loved. Instead of being able to fight back, Hermione found herself in the forest with the Death Eaters, watching as Harry surrendered himself to them. She found herself begging for his life before Voldemort sneered and shot his green light. She watched Harry’s eyes close and screamed for him when they would not open.

They never opened in her dreams, in her nightmares. They did not open and the war was lost.

But tonight they did, no longer the green she remembered but a deep amber that she couldn’t quite place. And a voice that wasn’t Harry’s whispering to her ‘It’s alright, you’re safe.’

The dream faded as quickly as it had appeared and Hermione succumbed to the lulls of sleep once more.

/-/

She had been having the dreams on and off since the end of the war and as Hermione scrubbed her hand over her face the next morning she was glad that she always remembered to place a silencing charm on her room before she slept. Had she known what had actually happened she would have been both concerned and mortified. As it was, she did not remember falling asleep downstairs never mind what had happened after.

And yet… and yet she noted something different this morning when she met Remus downstairs for breakfast. He smiled as he always did but his eyes seemed more watchful. Maybe it was just her imagination, she thought as she piled up a plate of bacon and eggs.

The day passed and more of the books from Hogwarts had been discarded as useless.

‘They all talk about people going back in time,’ Hermione sighed as she dropped another heavy volume onto the growing pile, ‘I’m beginning to think you might be a unique case, Remus.’

The man opposite smiled wryly, ‘Well, I’ve certainly never been called that before.’

Hermione laughed. She liked that he was becoming more comfortable around her. After all, who knew how long he was going to end up stuck here with her for, and she wanted him to be able to talk to her. He had been in her time for eleven days now, after all.

Eleven days with nothing to show for it, Hermione reflected with a frown, save for a pile of useless books and a growing headache about what they were going to do next. She was still waiting for Kingsley to secure her some books from the Ministry archives but that could take weeks. And the longer Remus stayed here the more danger there was of someone seeing him, of word getting out. And then they would be in trouble.

He was bound to be bored too, stuck in the house with only her for company, Hermione thought. But he never complained, never instigated any conversation about the outside world. Maybe she should invite Harry and Ginny over for dinner, she thought. She knew that Ginny trained Monday to Thursday, today was Wednesday, so maybe tomorrow night? She summoned a bit of paper and scribbled Harry a quick note asking him if he was available. It would be better to check first rather than raise hopes about company if Ginny wasn’t available.

‘I am,’ she announced a while later, ‘completely and utterly bored.’

Remus looked up from his equally boring-looking book and raised an eyebrow in a way that instantly had Hermione thinking of Sirius. He said nothing, but waited for her to continue.

She checked the clock over the fireplace. It was too early to start making dinner. Hm, what could we do? She spotted a set of gobstones on the bookshelf but dismissed it immediately. She hated that game, she didn’t even know why Ronald had bought it for her last birthday. Her eyes landed on the film collection she had been expanding. Suddenly an idea popped into her head.

‘Do you fancy a trip to the cinema?’

/-/

The picture house that was local to Hermione’s parents’ house had always, for only the month of January, shown last year’s most popular film in the afternoons. Hermione had never really questioned why but she and Remus just about made it for the showing at three o’clock.

She had all but dragged him out the door, she remembered with a small chuckle. She had insisted that he didn’t need to change and that it was a muggle cinema anyway. Nevertheless, Remus had insisted on changing into one of the nicer shirts that Harry had left him before adding a jacket and scarf as Hermione stood and tapped her foot impatiently. It was nice that he wanted to make the effort, but it wasn’t as if Hermione was taking him on a date. They had apparated with moments to spare and Hermione had insisted on buying the biggest bucket of popcorn the cinema had before the usher had hurried them to their seats as the lights dimmed.

‘Hermione?’ she turned slightly in her seat, only to find Remus a lot closer to her than she had imagined. And he was whispering to her.

‘Pardon?’

‘I was saying you haven’t even told me what we’re watching.’

She gave him a small smile. ‘I guarantee, you’ll know.’

Remus settled back into his seat as the lights went out completely. She shouldn’t have been so aware of his presence and yet Hermione felt as though there was a current running between them in the darkened room. Their bucket of popcorn was wedged in the gap between their seats and every time Remus reached into it, she could sense his movements. Once, their hands brushed and Hermione nearly squeaked out loud. The room wasn’t cold by any standards but the heat of his skin was unexpected and not at all unpleasant.

And they were still only watching the advertisements. Hermione scowled slightly. It was ridiculous, she was being ridiculous.

The opening sounds of the theme music startled her and she nearly spilt the popcorn all over the floor. Remus laughed loudly and it was only at that point that Hermione realised that they were the only two in the screen. His attention, however, was focused on reading the scrolling words. Hermione found herself fascinated by the way his lips moved as he read and smiled when he turned to look at her.

‘You’re right, I do know.’ He looked for only a brief moment as if he would very much like to say something else before he settled on a quick ‘thank you’.

Hermione settled in to watch the film, hoping to be distracted by the gorgeous, twenty-eight year old Scot on screen. She soon found out, however, that his blue eyes did nothing to distract her from the twenty-eight year old with amber eyes sitting only inches away.

/-/

‘You hated it didn’t you?’ she asked Remus as they exited the cinema over two hours later.

‘No, I…’ he must have noticed the look in her eyes that said she didn’t believe him, ‘it was awful.’

The shyness Hermione had felt during the film began to melt away. ‘I hated it, too. Even more than I did the last time I saw it.’

Remus looked stunned, ‘You willing sat through that film twice?’

She laughed, smiling as the corners of his eyes crinkled. ‘If nothing else, it’s good to make fun of.’

‘It has forever ruined the originals though,’ he said with apparent ease, ‘I remember when Jam-‘

He stopped dead, as if he realised what he had been about to say. Hermione had thought that he would enjoy the film because he was the right age to have seen the original trilogy in the cinema, but she hadn’t considered who he might have gone to see them with and the memories that it might evoke.

She shivered, a combination of the path of her thoughts and the chill of the evening air.

His eyes missed nothing, and the next instant Hermione found herself being wrapped in the brown leather jacket that Remus had been wearing previously. His hands skimmed the back of her neck as he pulled her hair over the collar.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, stunned momentarily by his small act of kindness. But soon her attention was otherwise engaged. Remus hadn’t taken his jacket off in the cinema and as he readjusted the thick scarf around his neck Hermione realised why. As he tucked the material into the top of his shirt she caught a quick glimpse of the white lines that ran down the pale skin of his throat. The scars weren’t what held Hermione’s gaze, though, a she considered the strong line of his jaw and the way his broad shoulders filled out the shirt in a way that she certainly didn’t remember it looking on Harry.

She knew that finding him attractive was a bad idea. Almost as potentially disastrous as asking Remus if he wanted to go out somewhere for dinner.

/-/

‘Since we’re out anyway, do you mind eating out tonight?’

The question pulled Remus out of his haze of insecurities as he readjusted his scarf. He had given her his jacket before he had even considered the scars. He only hoped that they were covered.

‘I couldn’t possibly ask you to pay for dinner for me, Hermione.’ He knew that his tone betrayed his exasperation with his current predicament. She continued to show unbounded kindness to him and he had nothing to offer her in return.

She waved off the cost as if it was nothing to her. And maybe it was, Remus considered, after all she was a young woman able to afford a house by herself. If he didn’t know better he might even have mistaken her for a member of one of the old, moneyed families of Wizarding Britain. As it was…

He wasn’t lying when he said he had hated the film but in truth Remus hadn’t watched as much of it as he should have. In the darkened cinema he could feel the heat of Hermione’s body beside his. With his enhanced senses he could hear the beating of her heart and he could hear it beat faster as he had leaned towards her.

She gave no indication that he frightened her, quite the opposite; she was always eerily at ease in his company. Was it her body’s way of trying to warn her against the wolf inside him, he wondered? But then, he had never known himself to affect anyone else that way. Her heart had sped up again when he had touched her, just the slightest of glances across her back but he had heard her slight intake of breath and the quickening beat.

Was it possible that she was attracted to him? He dismissed the notion almost entirely but the way she acted over dinner made him begin to reconsider.

It had been awkward at first, and Hermione confessed in a quiet voice that it was a long time since she had gone to dinner with a man. Remus stored that thought for later, wondering (not for the first time) about her relationship with a certain Harry Potter. Were they just friends? He hadn’t been back to see her since the day that Remus arrived. But she had owled him only this morning, Remus recalled seeing his name on the scroll.

If Hermione hadn’t been out with a man for a while it was even longer since Remus had eaten in a restaurant with a woman. Pitifully long, in fact. The last date he could remember (over five years ago now) had ended when the woman in question had made her views on the new legislation for magical beings very clear. Remus wasn’t sure now why he had initiated such a topic on a first date but he was later glad that he had done so. Needless to say, there hadn’t been a second.

She had been a pretentious cow, Remus thought, remembering the restaurant she had requested and the meals that he could not afford. With Hermione everything was much simpler. She had told him that this was the place where she grew up and that, though it may not look like much, the local Chinese was fantastic. He had been hesitant at first, seeing the dingy sign and peeling letters, but the inside of the restaurant was immaculate and Miss Granger was treated with the familiarity of a regular customer. Remus even noticed one of the young cooks behind the pass giving him a malevolent glare as he helped Hermione out of his jacket. Remus stared right back.

She had chosen his dinner for him, Remus confessing that he had never had much Chinese food before and they and settled into five minutes of awkward silence before Hermione had finally blurted out what he knew she had been holding in since they were outside the front doors of the cinema.

‘It’s alright to talk about them, you know.’ Her toffee coloured eyes (always so full of compassion) held his steadily. ‘You, the older you that is, talked to me about James. And Lily. I know it’s more recent for you but… don’t feel like you have to censure yourself. I’m always willing to listen, Remus.’

‘I know,’ Remus said, before he could stop himself. And he did know. The sincerity in Hermione’s eyes showed an understanding that he had not found in any other human being. She had lost something, something important. He didn’t know when or what but that sense of sadness was there. And he had heard her dreams.

She reached over the narrow table and squeezed his hand, the second time she had initiated contact between them. But instead of jerking away this time, Remus looked her straight in the eyes and smiled. She couldn’t know why he had been so surprised the last time she had done so but he was keen not to give away his reaction again. This small bit of human contact, the simple reassurance of a friend, it felt nice and, just for now, he was willing to ignore the voice in his head hissing at him that it was a bad idea and that Hermione would hate him if…

If she knew, it whispered. Remus felt his smile tighten as their food arrived. He couldn’t imagine her reactions to him being the same if she knew the truth about him.

She relinquished his hand to pick up her chopsticks and Remus found himself staring at Hermione and admiring the ease with which she could use them. His own first attempt was disastrous and he ended up with a lap full of rice and a companion trying to contain her snorts of laughter.

She looked truly beautiful when she was so relaxed, Remus mused. When Hermione had told him they were going out he had changed his clothes against her insistence that what he was wearing was fine. The truth was that the slightly baggy jeans and the even bigger jumper he had been wearing looked ridiculous out of place with her own attire. Her jeans fit her slim legs perfectly and the dark brown jumper-dress-thing she had on clung to her every curve. She had already looked more like she belonged on a night out rather than a Wednesday afternoon indoors. Remus had noticed, though, that her jumper covered her forearm. She was still hiding her scars from him. Not that he could blame her.

Hermione muttered something under her breath and it pulled his attention back to the present. The chopsticks he had been holding had been replaced by a fork. Hermione winked at him and he noticed her hand move into the pocket of her jeans. He smiled his thanks and took her cue to begin eating again.

‘So have I converted you to Chinese food?’ She asked a while later, when they had nearly finished eating.

‘Almost,’ he said with a smile, ‘if they do a chocolate desert then I’m sold.’

Her answering smile was mischievous, ‘They do but I wouldn’t recommend it, they’re not known for their desserts here. Why don’t we head home for dessert instead?’

Remus was positive that she hadn’t meant to but the way she glanced up at him from under her eyelashes when she asked had him thinking of something else entirely. She was so innocent, suggesting such a thing but the way she had asked lead his thoughts down a completely different path, imagining a very different end to their night. He shook his head immediately, trying to dispel thoughts of what it would be like to catch her full bottom lip between his own and wrap his hands in her curly hair.

‘… hardly even made a dent in our supply from Honeydukes!’

Nodding mutely, he followed her out of the restaurant, trying not to focus on his realisation that in only eleven short days, Hermione Granger had had a greater effect on him than any other female he had ever known. His attraction to her could no longer be denied but she seemed to see their non-date in as platonic a light as she had no doubt intended. It was only Remus who was becoming flustered by her presence at his side and her distracting habit of licking her lips against the winter air.

/-/

When they arrived back at Hermione’s house she again set out a tray of chocolates and some warm drinks for them. It was still relatively early in the evening and so they had both picked up a book after Remus lit the fire.

Within only an hour Hermione had, once again fallen asleep in her chair. This time, however, Remus joined her soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested Star Wars: Episode I (which I loathed) was the most successful film of 1999. I thought it was a good point of reference as the original came out in 1977, so Remus would have been 17. It’s the type of thing I could imagine the marauders doing over the summer holidays, going to see Star Wars.
> 
> As ever I own nothing related to Harry Potter, only my own ideas.


	7. Chapter 6

**13 January 2000**

‘Such a pretty little Mudblood,’ the voice cooed as Hermione fired another curse at the shrieking witch. The battle raged around her as Bellatrix Lestrange once again stalked her prey. But this time Ginny and Molly didn’t come to her aid, and Hermione was on her own. Lestrange cackled manically. ‘Where are all your protectors now, my pretty? Potter’s dead, Weasley’s left you and that half-breed…’

Rage filled her blood, made it boil as she felt a spell whip past her cheek, leaving a shallow cut in her skin.

‘Oh look, we’ll all get to see your dirty blood now,’ she screeched. ‘Though I don’t think the werewolf really cares what he drinks, as long as it’s fresh.’ She licked her blackened lips, ‘such a shame he won’t live to see it.’

A great shape leapt out of the darkness and tackled the woman to the ground, her wand snapping beneath her weight. It held its snout in the air and howled savagely before the patronus faded from its animal shape. Hermione met amber eyes staring at her concernedly from across the field and somehow found herself able to hear his words above the wind and the sounds of war.

‘Hermione? I’ve got you, it’s alright.’

/-/

Tap... tap.

Groaning, Hermione tried to pull the covers over her head. Her hands closed over the material and she sunk further back into the realms of sleep.

Tap… tap… tap.

What was that noise, she wondered. Maybe if she just ignored it…

Tap-tap-tap.

She exhaled deeply, throwing off the covers and standing up quickly in an attempt to wake herself up slightly. Biting her lip she wondered why in the name of Merlin her coffee table was in her bedroom. Because it wasn’t, she realised, she had fallen asleep in the library. She frowned at the tartan blanket that she didn’t ever remember buying before she remembered the man apparently sound asleep on the sofa opposite. He must have put it over her after she fell asleep, though he obviously hadn’t felt the need to do so for himself. He looked so young, lying there…

Tap-tap-tap.

Hermione didn’t who exactly would be rattling her window at… ten o’clock? It wasn’t like her to sleep so late. When she reached her front door, however, the mop of black hair visible through the glass pane. Harry had obviously received her owl, then. He always did have a habit of just appearing without replying first. She laughed quietly, shaking her head as she opened the door for him and greeted him with a hug as he shook snowflakes out of his hair.

‘It’s freezing out there,’ he complained as he kicked off his shoes and handed Hermione one of the bags of groceries he had brought. ‘You weren’t going to leave me on the step all day, were you?’

‘I considered it,’ Hermione teased, leading him into the kitchen to unload the bags.

‘You look like you’ve just woken up.’

‘That’s because I have,’ she said huffily. ‘I was rudely awoken by someone rattling at the door.’

‘Well, Gin was up at six to get to practice so I thought I would make myself useful. You never sleep in though, Mione,’ Harry commented with a raised eyebrow.

‘It was a late night,’ Hermione said before she watched that damned eyebrow creep even higher. ‘We got through a lot of books yesterday. Honestly Potter, get your mind out of the gutter.’

‘I can’t help it,’ he mumbled around a mouthful of scone before passing her one of the still-warm offerings from the bag. ‘It’s all Ginny, she’s a very bad influence.’

‘I’m telling her you said that,’ Hermione threatened as she started unpacking the bags, marvelling at the sheer amount of food that Harry had deemed necessary for a small dinner. ‘Are you planning on feeding an army, Harry?’

‘No, just the four of us,’ he said absently as he opened the door to the refrigerator. Out of all her magical friends Harry was the only one who understood her desire to keep muggle appliances. They just made life so much easier without having to remember to charm the food to stay cool every day, or to remember to charm the water in the boiler to heat. Yes, she thought, magic was brilliant but live was simpler when she didn’t have to rely on it for everything.

‘Ginny’s coming over tonight then? I need to know when I can tell her about your sleights on her character.’ Hermione handed him the lettuce and he put it in the salad drawer without question.

Harry rolled his eyes as she passed the tomatoes. ‘Yeah, she said she’ll be over as soon as she has, and I quote, “washed the mud out of my hair and made myself presentable”.’

Hermione laughed at that. ‘I’m sure. So what are you making for tonight then, Chef?’

‘I was going to make some ham in a mustard glaze, so I needed to get the joint stewing now. I hope that’s alright.’

Harry looked uncertain about his presence in her house and she knew that it had to do with Remus staying here. ‘Of course, Harry, you know you’re always welcome.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, nudging her shoulder with his as they stood side by side. ‘It’s just, well… you know.’

Hermione sighed. ‘I know, less exposure and all that.’

‘Should I even be here now?’

He sounded unsure, wrinkling his nose slightly as his glasses slipped down. Hermione shook her head and pushed them up his nose for him with one finger. He caught her finger and used it to twist her arm around her back with lightning-fast reflexes. His grip was strong enough to hold her in place against his side but Hermione knew that he wasn’t holding her arm high enough to cause any discomfort. She didn’t have much time to notice anything else as Harry muttered some sort of tickling jinx and she felt herself sagging against him, shrieking with laughter.

There was perhaps a second or two between the muffled thump from somewhere beyond the kitchen door and the door itself being wrenched open.

He was instantly alert, Hermione noticed. When she had left him in the living room Remus had still been sleeping but now he was wide awake, albeit a little dishevelled. Merlin, he looks good dishevelled. His clothes were wrinkled from sleep and his eyes were still a little bleary, his hair was simply unmanageable but he looked more attractive than she had ever seen him look before. Stop.

She shook the thought from her head. ‘Are you alright, Remus?’ The other man simply nodded silently, his eyes flicking from her face down to her waist. Hermione had been only vaguely aware that Harry was still holding one of her arms behind her back while his other had somehow managed to wrap around her to keep her from buckling over. It must look strange from his perspective, she realised. ‘Sorry we woke you.’

‘Sorry, I thought I heard – never mind.’ Remus rubbed a hand on the back of his neck before excusing himself to use the bathroom. Harry snickered quietly when he asked Hermione if she needed to use the shower and she dug an elbow into his ribs with a hissed ‘behave’.

/-/

Research was not Harry’s forte. Hermione had known this; it was why she was so surprised when he had volunteered his services for the afternoon. She should have known that he wouldn’t be content to sit in the quiet atmosphere she had grown used to with Remus. Normally she wouldn’t have minded, but it seemed that the more Harry talked the quieter Remus grew. She didn’t pretend to know why exactly, maybe it had to do with all the possible avenues of magic that were being ruled out the more they read. By the time Ginny arrived Remus was all but non-responsive to Hermione’s quiet attempts to coax out his opinion.

Even as a professional Quidditch player Ginny still hadn’t lost her femininity. Her slightly damp hair indicated that she must have been running a little late from training today but Hermione envied the younger woman’s ability to look effortlessly beautiful. The green blouse and grey trousers were a far cry from the jeans and cardigan combination that Hermione had changed into after her shower. If she wasn’t one of her best friends Hermione was slightly convinced that she would hate Harry’s wife, just a little.

The younger woman had never been one for pomp and circumstance. She had waltzed right into the house (without knocking the door as her husband had done) and found the three all reading quietly in the study. Without further ado she had walked straight over to Remus and stuck her hand out in front of him.

‘Hi, I’m Ginny Potter.’

Hermione watched as Remus opened and closed his mouth several times, apparently unsure of what to do with the woman. Ginny retracted her hand as if nothing had happened, apparently unfazed by the fact that he hadn’t shaken it.

‘Didn’t change a bit,’ she muttered under her breath before plonking unceremoniously onto her husband’s lap, despite there being several spaces left in the room. ‘Hello, darling, how was your day?’

Hermione snickered quietly at their antics. The Potters were something special. While Ron and Lavender didn’t seem to be able to keep their hands off each other in public, Harry and Ginnys’ relationship was of a very different nature. The most demonstrative Hermione had ever seen them was their first kiss as a married couple but, whether in public or on nights in with friends like tonight, it was like they always managed to maintain some form of contact. Hermione had seen it many times: a hand placed on Ginny’s back as Harry held the door open for her, Ginny’s arm around his waist as they looked into shop windows. They were very much in love, and Hermione had to admit that she envied them for that. They had the sort of love that any person craved, passionate but stable, affectionate yet balanced. It was a rare thing to find.

/-/

Harry was married? He had stared at the wedding ring on Ginny’s hand as she held it out for him for so long that she had given up on the idea and sat down before he could think of any sort of response or comment save for the niggling in his brain. Well, that solved the mystery of Harry and Hermione’s relationship. Remus had been sure that something had been going on but as he watched them now he could see that he had been mistaken.

The way that Harry and Hermione bantered as they served up the food reminded him very much of his own groups of friends at Hogwarts. He had been friends with Lily Evans (and at the time it was of much to the annoyance of her future husband) long before she had started dating James Potter. As a result there was always a curious dynamic between the three that didn’t exist with anyone else in their circle of friends. He was a friend to both of them and had been before they were dating. As a result there was always a sort of shifting alliance between Remus and the other two. He always supposed that was the nature of relationships when close friends were involved and, watching the next generation of Potters and Hermione, it seemed he had been right. Her manner of teasing didn’t undermine either Ginny or Harry in any way.

‘… and then, to accuse you of being a bad influence!’ she was saying in a tone of mock horror.

Ginny sighed and shook her head as she opened the bottle of wine she had brought. ‘Harry, Harry, Harry,’ she passed Remus a glass with a quick and easy smile before turning back to her husband, ‘I grew up with six brothers, of course I’m a bad influence.’

Harry laughed and Remus noted the way his fingers lingered on his wife’s as he took his own glass from her. While the younger man hadn’t exactly shied away from physical contact with Hermione Remus could see a marked difference in how he interacted with the red haired woman.

Somehow the friends managed to serve dinner without any catastrophe. Remus smiled at Hermione as she took her place opposite him. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with laughter and he thought that it suited her immensely. She didn’t smile enough.

‘So, any interesting news from your neck of the woods, Ginny?’

Ginny smiled lightly. ‘Not really, just the usual. Everything’s been pretty quiet since the New Year.’

The New Year. Remus was still having a little trouble with that, despite having been in this time for almost two weeks now. He didn’t know any of the people they talked about or half of the things they referenced and so he contented himself to watching Hermione and Ginny interact.

While Ginny Potter was a beautiful young witch she didn’t hold his attention like Hermione did. Perhaps it was because Ginny reminded him so much of Lily, but then again maybe not. Hermione captivated him without even trying.

When he had walked in on her and Harry in the kitchen that morning he had to admit that he had seen what he didn’t want to see. His jealousy had flared up at seeing Hermione so comfortable in the embrace of another man, even though he had no right to be jealous. He wasn’t anything to her and never could be. Eventually he would leave this place and Hermione would remain, and when they met again it would be as two different people entirely. He didn’t know when or where that was going to be but Hermione had made it clear that she had known him. He would be older than he was now and Hermione would never look at him the way he looked at her. Though he had hoped…

She had said his name in her sleep last night. In the middle of the night Remus had been awakened by the sound of her tossing and turning on the other sofa. The fire had all but died out and she looked cold. He had pulled the tartan blanket off the footstool and lain it over her, only to find himself close enough to hear more of her whimpers and cries. He had tried so hard to just leave her be but as the thrashing got worse he had sat on his knees beside her head and murmured reassurances into her ear, brushing his fingertips from her temple to her chin in repetitive movements.

When finally she had stilled he turned to throw more logs on the fire when she had muttered quietly, ‘Remus’. At first he thought she had awoken but he realised that her eyes were still closed and her breathing returning to the deep and even pattern of the sleeper. It had made him hope that maybe she felt something of the pull that he felt towards her.

But he was being stupid, he chastised himself. Hermione didn’t act any differently towards him than she did with Harry, or even Ginny. As dinner progressed he watched the three, noting the familiarity and the sense that they were not only friends, but family. He remembered it being much the same with his own friends at school, at least before…

The wine glass he had been holding shattered to pieces in his hands. All conversation suddenly stopped.

Remus looked down at the blood and wine dripping from his hand and muttered a quick apology. He cradled his hand to his chest, trying to stem the flow as he made his way quickly up the stairs to the bathroom. He had expected to be left alone, but the light footsteps that followed him up the stairs told him otherwise.

‘Remus?’

Hermione looked at him worriedly as he fumbled to turn on the water tap with his left hand. ‘I’m fine, I’ll be back down in a moment.’

He put his hand under the flow of water and watched as it ran pink. The wound was shallow but long and there was still a piece of glass embedded in it. He heard a quiet murmur beside him and watched as the glass lifted out and fell down the plug hole. Hermione took his hand out from the flow of water and dried it gently with a towel, and Remus could do nothing to stop her.

Even though he knew, logically, that the infection could not be spread by such contact he wanted to scream at her to get away, not to touch his dirty blood. But that would mean admitting what he was. Instead, he bit his lip, ready to push Hermione away at the slightest hint that there was any danger to her whatsoever. But it never came. She pulled a bottle down from the cabinet behind him and (warning him that it would sting) covered the wound in essence of dittany before wrapping a clean bandage around his hand, holding it in one of hers all the while.

‘I’m sorry about your glass,’ he finally murmured when she had finished.

Concerned eyes met his, ‘Don’t worry about that, Remus. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. What… can I ask what happened?’

‘I was just…’ he struggled to find an explanation, ‘just thinking.’ He paused, wondering how much he should reveal to Hermione. He realised that she could probably make a good guess at his thoughts anyway. ‘He’s very like James, it made me remember… It’s not that I don’t want to talk about them, Hermione,’ he said, knowing that his voice betrayed his anguish, ‘it’s that I can’t. When I think about what happened, how they were betrayed…’

He had comforted her twice when she had cried in her sleep but Remus never expected the rush of emotions he felt when Hermione carefully slid her arms around him very slowly and leant her head against his chest. ‘I’m so sorry, I know it doesn’t help but I am.’

‘Thank you,’ he whispered into her hair, ‘for everything, I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

‘You’ll repay me someday,’ she said in a voice so quiet that Remus knew he wasn’t meant to hear, ‘you’ll save me.’

Save her? He thought, his mind whirring into action. From what? But his thoughts were distracted when she released her hold him slightly and tipped her head back to look at him. Suddenly the bathroom seemed a lot smaller, with her face only inches from his, her eyes staring intently at him. It would only take a second for him to bend down and claim her lips with his own. She was biting her bottom one again, worrying it with her teeth, she couldn’t know that it made him…

‘Is everything alright, Mione?’ Ginny’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

Hermione called out an answer and the pair headed back down the stairs. When they reached the landing it was obvious that Harry and Ginny had already cleared up, not only the mess that Remus had left but the rest of their dinner dishes. Ginny was reclining on one of the sofas in the library with her legs up on her husband’s lap, while he was looking through what appeared to be a photo album from their wedding. Anyone else would have missed the panicked look Hermione sent her friend’s way but Remus did not. As a result Harry closed the book and set it neatly on the coffee table.

It was only a few hours (and several games of monopoly) later, when Harry and Ginny had gone that Remus looked closely at the front cover. Harry really was the spitting image of James, he thought, and Ginny made a beautiful bride. Although…

‘Hermione?’

‘Hm?’ She looked over the top of her book at him.

‘Did Ginny not wear a veil?’

Her eyes suddenly darkened and she turned her eyes back to her book with a quiet utterance. ‘Veils don’t have a very positive connotation for us.’


	8. Chapter 7

**19 January 2000**

She was running, dodging the streams of light as they shot past. A deep fog swirled around her feet and covered the obstructions littered across the ground, obstructions that she did not want to stop and consider right now. She had to find him.

She heard an anguished roar to her left as one of the black cloaked figures fell. But that didn’t matter.

Pushing her legs to run quicker, she crested the small hill that blocked her view of the rest of the field, the rest of the action.

He was duelling with a black figure and as they both fell, her heart stopped. She flew to his side in an instant, her hands cradling his head as she searched desperately for signs of life.

And then his hand was stroking her face gently, his eyes looking up at her in wonder. She pressed her cheek into the touch of his hand, her tears making contact with his skin. ‘Hermione’.

/-/

Useless.

Irrelevant.

Outdated.

Just plain stupid.

She tossed The Barmy Wizards Travels in Time onto the still growing pile with a frustrated growl. Across the room she heard Remus chuckle at her.

‘And what has that poor book ever done to you?’

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and Remus held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Over the last week this had become a recurring conversation. With every book she read, every theory she dismissed, Hermione’s anxiety went up a notch.

And that was when the treacherous thoughts began to creep in. What if there wasn’t a way to send Remus back?

No, her logical side replied, she had met him in 1993. There had to be a way to for him to go back.

She picked up another book, skimming through the contents page for anything that might seem helpful.

But what if he had to stay here? What if there was no way for Hermione to send him back? What if he just disappeared one day?

It would be like he died all over again. And now that Hermione had become close to Remus, now that she knew him in a way that she had never seen before…

She had always known how he took his tea, his love of chocolate and his academic mind. What she had observed in the last few weeks was his sharp sense of humour, his quiet determination and his strength in the face of something which neither of the could understand. And it made Hermione admire him more than ever.

And maybe, just maybe, her feelings for this younger version of Remus ran a little deeper than admiration.

She remembered how his hand had felt in hers as she cleaned his cut last week. He haunted her dreams and was never far from her waking thoughts. This was more than some schoolgirl crush. This, whatever is was, ran deeper than anything Hermione had ever felt before. And yet she refused to put a label on it. To do so would be counterproductive, she told herself. He would leave, sooner or later, and then she would just have to deal with his absence. After all, he had never been a huge part of her life until three weeks ago.

But you don’t want him to go, her treacherous mind screamed at her.

Her reasons were partly selfish. No one had ever quite seemed to understand Hermione as he did. Remus didn’t pry, he let Hermione carry on. Sometimes they would spend entire days in silence, just reading, researching.

In the last week, however, they had not discovered anything which might help them.

Their days had been spent in the library and their nights watching old films. Harry and Ginny had come over for dinner again and Hermione had been pleased to see Remus making a more concentrated effort to join in their conversations. He was getting comfortable here and the thought both pleased and terrified her.

Since the start of the month Remus had seemed to just fit. In her life, her home, Hermione had become used to him. And she didn’t want that to end.

But still she researched, trying to block out her memories of him laughing with Harry or asking Ginny about her career as a Quidditch player. Her memories of him making her dinner for once and of him laughing as they watched television together.

It wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on such thoughts.

Ever since their first dinner with Ginny and Harry, Hermione had been growing closer to him. And in her head she knew that that was a mistake. But her heart didn’t listen.

/-/

Time was ticking slowly onward and every day Remus found himself wishing it would slow even further.

He didn’t want to leave.

He had known from the start that this wasn’t his world, that he didn’t belong here but the idea of leaving was beginning to weigh more heavily on his soul.

He was going back to a life of loneliness and despair. A life alone. He was used to it before…

But now he had had a taste of something different.

And so the ‘research’ that Remus was engaged in became a mere flicking of pages. Not intentionally, Hermione was putting a lot of time and effort into helping him and Remus had no desire to betray that. But as he read he began to imagine what life could be like if he stayed in 2000.

He could build a life here. With Hermione.

He didn’t know what the younger woman felt for him but Remus was increasingly sure of what he felt for her.

He was falling for her. And the way she whimpered his name in her sleep had caused him to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more than friendship on her side too.

For the first time in many years, Remus Lupin allowed himself to hope.

He went to bed that night with his head filled with images of a life with Hermione. With someone who accepted him, who he loved and who might one day love him in return.

But therein lay the problem, he thought as he tossed and turned. Hermione didn’t know him, not completely. She didn’t know about his shame, his condition. She didn’t know he was a monster. He was the thing that muggles made horror films about, the creature that wizards used to scare their friends. He was the demon that could not be controlled once every twenty-eight days.

And Hermione deserved someone better than he could ever be.

Sometime around five in the morning, head reeling from his considerations and conflicting thoughts, Remus made his way downstairs to get a glass of water.

As he crept stealthily through the hall he saw that the kitchen light was already on and stopped when he heard hushed voices through the wooden door.

‘He needs to go back. If he doesn’t…’

‘I know what happens if he doesn’t.’

Hermione sounded agitated and Remus heard the scrape of a chair being pushed across the floor. He thought about making his presence known, he had never liked sulking in doorways. It had always been his least favourite occupation during the war. But he felt compelled to listen to her response. To understand what Hermione was thinking.

There was a long pause before Harry called her name and Hermione answered. ‘You’re right, I do ignore it. Because we should, because it doesn’t matter…’

Remus didn’t know what she was talking about, but Harry seemed to. ‘Except now?’ Remus didn’t hear her response. ‘And what are you going to do?’

‘He has to go back, I know he has to go back.’

It was the truth. He knew it was the truth. But the pain Remus felt at her words was staggering. What came next, however, was what not only drove a knife into his heart but twisted it violently and left him bleeding on the floor.

‘I know what I’m sending him back to, Harry,’ her voice was quiet, muffled, and no human would ever have been able to hear it from this distance, ‘I’m sending him back to die.’


	9. Chapter 8

**21 January 2000**

Unbeknownst to the man lying awake next door Hermione was also staring at the ceiling.

Her thoughts and feelings were so confused, so muddled. Hermione didn’t know what to do. She knew what she should do, of course, but doubt was a powerful thing.

Had she not been awake Hermione might have missed the light tapping at her window. She stared out her window in confusion at the sight of the black-haired man standing there. A silent conversation later she was creeping through the house to let him in the back door.

Hermione flicked her wand at the kitchen lights before opening the back door. Harry was shivering slightly from the cold and she moved aside quickly to let him in.

‘What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Did you make fun of Ginny’s snoring again? So help me Potter, I’m not getting in the middle of another one of your fights.’

Harry’s answering smile was not a cheerful as Hermione had hoped. It was the same smile he had given her on countless occasions and none of those situations had ended well.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, taking his hand and pulling him over to the kitchen chairs. ‘Are you alright?’

That Harry had yet to speak was disconcerting enough in itself, never mind the smile. He took a deep breath and Hermione felt her nerves ratchet up another rung. This wasn’t going to be good.

‘I’m worried about you, Hermione,’ he confessed, his green eyes unable to meet hers as he stared at the grained pattern of the table top, ‘but I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say.’

Hermione frowned, ‘We’ve been friends long enough that I would like to think you wouldn’t say you’re worried without good reason, Harry.’ He didn’t reply, another sign that Harry was even more worried than he was trying to appear.

‘It’s Remus,’ he said finally, his eyes meeting hers with reluctance, ‘I’ve seen the two of you together and I just… I worry that you’re getting too attached, ‘Mione.’

There was really no way she could deny it, and Harry knew Hermione well enough to know that too. She could try, of course, but there really was no point. So, instead, when she opened her mouth all the thoughts she had been struggling with came pouring out to one of the people she trusted most in this world.

‘I know, I never meant to get this close to him, honestly. I only meant to be his friend, to help him… but now… I don’t want him to leave, Harry. You know what he’s going back to, you know how people treated him.’

‘You love him,’ Harry said simply.

‘I…’ Hermione paused. Did she? Was that the reason? It made sense of course, but was that really how she felt for Remus? ‘I don’t know.’

Across the table Harry sighed and grasped her hand tightly. ‘I do. You’ve always had the best heart of anyone I know, ‘Mione. You’ve always seen the best in people. You’re one of the few people who has ever been able to put Remus’s lycanthropy completely to the side.’

‘Your point being?’ she asked, her tone acidic. Harry was making this harder.

‘He needs to go back,’ he said, his voice dropping slightly lower. ‘If he doesn’t…’

‘I know what happens if he doesn’t,’ Hermione snapped. She wrenched her hand from Harry’s and kicked her chair back from the table. She walked the few paces to the window and stared out at the fading moon.

It would be full tonight. She didn’t know if Remus was aware of its progression. The fact that he hadn’t yet confessed to her about his condition was also weighing on her mind. It wasn’t that she expected him to trust her after such a short acquaintance on his part but she wondering what he was going to do tonight. His life was so tied to the moon, it was easy to forget because of his gentle personality, his unwillingness to complain about the hand life had dealt him, but Hermione saw the effects in his self-deprecating humour, his lack of confidence. She couldn’t imagine what it was like, being fettered to an inanimate object, having all your hopes and dreams and wishes…

Oh!

Her mind was whirring. How could she have missed the connection before? Suddenly everything made sense. Of course…

‘Hermione?’

Harry’s hand on her shoulder was timid, cautious.

‘You’re right,’ she said, wiping a tear from her eye as she turned to face him, ‘I do ignore it. Because we should, because it doesn’t matter…’

Harry seemed to see the revelation in her eyes, the determined set of her jaw. ‘Except now?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘And what are you going to do?’

Hermione screwed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see the concern on Harry’s face, didn’t want to see him looking at her as if he knew that her heart might just shatter into a million pieces at the plan she was forming in her head. ‘He has to go back,’ she whispered, ‘I know he has to go back.’

‘’Mione, look at me,’ Harry demanded, his voice still gentle and concerned. She opened her eyes as Harry gently spun her to face him. ‘I’m here for you and so is Ginny. We’ll help you, I promise.’

‘I know what I’m sending him back to, Harry,’ she said tearfully, ‘I’m sending him back to die.’

‘I know,’ he said, pulling her into his chest as she continued to cry silently, ‘but it has to happen. You can’t save everyone, ‘Mione.’

‘I wanted to,’ her voice was muffled against the fabric of his sweater, ‘I wanted to.’

‘And we love you for it,’ Harry’s voice said above her head. He drew he back slightly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I never had any right to ask you for what you’ve done for me over the years ‘Mione. But you did it all without me ever having to. So I’m begging you to listen to me this one time, this one request. Send him back.’

/-/

After Harry left Hermione dressed for the day. She showered, changed, read the one section of the one book she had previously dismissed and made breakfast. Then she packed all of the books away. She would have to owl Kingsley and tell him that she didn’t need that security clearance after all, she thought with a sardonic smile as she flipped pancakes. The answer had been in front of her all along.

When Remus arrived down the stairs he appeared more troubled that usual. Hermione put it down to the pull of the moon and didn’t comment. Instead she insisted that they were taking it easy today and they spent the morning and afternoon reading for pleasure. But even the magical worlds of Tolkien that Hermione head dreamed about as a child did not help distract her from her reality. The wolves that taunted Bilbo Baggins simply reminded her of what was coming.

So, after dinner, she switched to vampires instead. It was purely coincidental, Buffy was on television and Hermione needed something with lots of bangs and flashes to distract her. She handed Remus his tea and tried to ignore his growing restlessness. In all honesty she was waiting for him to make some excuse and leave for the night. But the moon’s rise was still a while away.

In an effort to distract herself Hermione tried explaining the plot of the show to Remus as they watched. But both of them were agitated and, though Hermione should have known to stay clear of the topic, she found herself arguing with Remus.

‘But if they love each other, then it doesn’t matter.’

‘He could kill her, Hermione. She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, the naive little girl.’

They weren’t talking about the television anymore. Hermione could see the fire in his eyes as he gave angry retorts to her argument. She could understand why he was getting so riled up by the  
topic but what she couldn’t understand is why his attitude made her temper flare up in reaction. They were both on edge, for different but related reasons.

‘She’s a grown woman, Remus, she knows what she’d doing.’

‘She’s barely even a child! Her powers are no match for his. The whole concept is based around this romanticised ideal that doesn’t happen in the real world, Hermione. There’s no way she would ever accept someone like him.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Yes, Hermione, it is. No woman in her right mind would ever look twice at…’

‘I would.’

The silence that followed was deafening. Hermione was slightly startled by the words that came out of her mouth but she schooled her expression not to betray that fact. After all, what she had said was true but it was the look of absolute shock displayed by the man facing her that made her cheeks colour as they did.

He gave her no warning. One minute he had been shouting at her, his face growing more thunderous as she snapped back, but now he was gripping her hair in his hand as his lips moved insistently against hers. Hermione was stunned, the electric current that she had felt between them before was back in full force. His hands kept her in place and his lips were firm against hers. Hermione felt like Remus was trying to devour her very soul with his kiss.

This was wrong, Hermione thought, so very wrong. But why did it feel right? He tasted like mint and tea and something else unique. It was intoxicating and Hermione heard herself whimper slightly as his tongue coaxed her lips open. As suddenly as he had initiated the kiss, Remus was on his feet and backing away from her. His face was flushed with colour and his pupils slightly dilated as he shook his head silently.

‘Hermione,’ he whispered and she saw the fear in his eyes. It was the same look that he had displayed when he first arrived in her house. Like he didn’t know what to do next, like he was ready to run and keep running. ‘I’m sorry, I…’

‘Don’t, please,’ she whispered, just loud enough to carry, ‘please don’t say you’re sorry.’ She couldn’t bear that, not now. She had worked so hard to distract both of them from what was coming. She had hoped to do that by watching Buffy, she had no idea it would backfire on her to such an extent. She just hoped that he didn’t realise…

She knew that her feelings for him couldn’t interfere with what was about to happen, that she couldn’t risk the future of her world by giving into her own selfish desire to keep him here, with her. The fact that she now had a pretty good indication that (on some level, at least) he might not be entirely averse to that plan only made this harder.

No, the logical part of her mind screamed at her, Hogwarts, dementors, Harry…

Harry had been right, she thought. She was too attached to Remus. The thought of him leaving was unbearable. She knew what she was sending him back to and yet Hermione knew what would happen if he stayed. He could not stay here. If he stayed… it didn’t bear thinking about.

She glanced at his empty mug, the tea and moonstone dust long since drank. To counteract the feeling of the moon’s pull, she told herself trying to push down the guilt at her deception. Remus wouldn’t be able to feel the moon as it rose but it would still force him to change, as ever.

The moon was set to rise any minute Hermione knew as she glanced at the clock. ‘The fire’s going out,’ she noted quietly, ‘would you mind getting some more wood from outside?’

‘Of course,’ Remus said with a tight smile. He thought she was simply deflecting, he had no idea…

Hermione followed him to the back door, watching as he shuffled on his shoes at the kitchen door and pulled his jacket a little closer around himself.

As he turned his back to her, Hermione drew her wand silently. Remus took a couple of steps down the path before his whole body stiffened and he whirled round to face her with a look of alarm as the moon rose and he began to shake.

It had been on the last full moon that she had wished for them to be alive, all those close to her that she had lost in the last few years. But only Remus was tied to the moon and only Remus had returned. Hermione knew now that she had somehow tapped into its natural magic. It had been inadvertent and it never should have happened. But even now she couldn’t bring herself to regret it, even in the face of what was coming and what she now had to do.

‘I’m sorry, Remus,’ she whispered. She pointed her wand at the middle of his chest and uttered the words she had found the night before. ‘Desiderium quondam affero nunc capio tergum!’

The white-blue light that sprang from her wand hit him square on the chest and she saw his eyes widen for a split second before he disappeared completely, the slight mist of that same light the only evidence he had ever been standing there.

Hermione felt her legs buckle from underneath her as she fell to her knees on the wet grass. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the wind disperse the mist.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered to the empty space where he had once stood. ‘I love you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never studied Latin, so I rely on online dictionaries. They wouldn’t give me exactly what I wanted for the incantation but the literal translation reads word-by-word ‘Wish once give[n] now take back’.
> 
> So yes, my explanation for the time-travel is simply. Remus is tied to the moon as the others were not. When Hermione made her wish her magic combined with the moon brought him into this time. I just thought that if werewolves were shackled to the moon it had to have some form of natural magic about it.
> 
> As ever I own nothing, I even admit to stealing the Tenth Doctor's favourite apology.


	10. Chapter 9

**1993-1994**

The first time he saw her again was agony. He knew that she would be here, knew that she would be in her early teens, but he wasn’t prepared for the reaction he had to her.

She looked so different, so young and fresh and as-yet-untouched by whatever was coming in her future to make her cold and hard as she had been those first few days when they had met in his past.

In her future.

She was only fourteen and there was nothing sexual or romantic about his attraction to her. He watched as she went about her school work, laughing and plotting with the boys. He watched as she warred with Ronald Weasley over the death of his pet. She was miserable in those few months and it was all he could do not to go to her, not to tell her that it was alright.

He marvelled as he looked at map that Harry had been in possession of and saw the name of one of its makers, long presumed dead. He saw Hermione’s great courage as she stood up to the rat who clearly revolted her, as she treated Sirius like a human being. He felt the stab to his heart as she shrieked to Harry that he, Professor Remus Lupin, was a werewolf.

It was only in the next few days, having left the castle and gone back to his life as an unemployed bachelor that he realised. She had known.

At fourteen Hermione had discovered his secret. When he had been thrust forward into her future she had known. When she talked to him, befriended him, invited him into her home because he had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. He had tried so hard to keep it from her but she had already known and she had treated him no differently that he had seen her act with Harry.

When she had touched him, that simple contact of skin on skin that had always set his veins on fire, even then she had known. And she had let him kiss her. Even though she had known what he was and known that he was keeping it from her. But then, it was now apparent to Remus that she had kept things from him too.

**1995-1996**

It was another year before Remus saw her after he resigned. Voldemort had returned and had killed a young Hogwarts pupil, Cedric Diggory. Remus had wanted to race to the school when he heard the news, just to make sure that Hermione was still safe. He had stopped himself, but only just.

And then she had been staying at Grimmuald Place with them in the summer. She was a little older now but still not the young woman that Remus had first known. She was still jail bait, Sirius told him.

After much torture on the other man’s part Remus had finally relented and told Sirius why he practically ran from the room every time she was present. To his surprise Sirius had accepted his story unconditionally and sympathised with him completely.

‘I know it must be hard, waiting for her to grow up. You shared something that’s in your past that she hasn’t lived through yet.’ He had said, wisely, following it up with a lewd remark about keeping her plaid skirt on until she left school.

The war was just beginning and, as Hermione and the boys got pulled into it more and more, he began to see why her eyes had always been so old for one so young. When she had followed Harry to the ministry it had been Remus who had fought off Dolohov and pulled her body off the floor where she was slumped, unconscious. You’ll save me, she had said, all those years ago. And she had been right. As Remus checked her pulse he wondered if there were any other little things she had let slip in his time with her.

Veils don’t have a very positive connotation for us.

The phrase struck a chord with him as he heard one of the other teenagers shout something about the veil room.

Veils don’t have a very positive connotation for us.

Something was going to happen, he needed to get to that room. He grabbed a broken piece of wood off the floor, holding it with his cloak instead of his skin as he cast the charm on it. He called over to Neville Longbottom, getting him to take the newly formed portkey and take Hermione to The Three Broomsticks. They would get help there, he knew. Rosmerta would take them to the castle.

As soon as he had seen them disappear, Remus rushed to the room with the raised dais and curtained arch.

The room was in complete panic. Harry was fighting off a masked Death Eater, Alastor Moody was lying on the ground, bleeding but alive, Sirius’s young cousin was clutching her leg and panting as she fended off yet another curse being thrown at her.

But Sirius was the one closest to the curtain. He stood with his side to Remus, taunting his unbalanced relative. ‘Come on, you can do better than that!’

Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked in rage and aimed a spell directly at her cousin’s chest.

‘Flipendo!’ Remus shocked, knocking Sirius off his feet and to the side as Bellatrix’s curse disappeared through the dark veil. She turned on him instead, only to be knocked unconscious by her younger cousin’s spell as Tonks shot her down. Remus nodded his thanks before joining the fray, keeping the Death Eaters away from his friends’ son.

Hours later when the Death Eaters and their master had scarpered Remus insisted that he accompany Tonks and Mad Eye to Hogwarts to see Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was being treated but was still gravely ill when they arrived but he knew she would make a full recovery. He visited the hospital wing while his comrades recovered, using it as an excuse to check up on the young girl a few beds over.

In the days after the fight at the Ministry Sirius nursed some bad bruises and teased Remus about finding a gentler way to have his back. Remus said nothing about the older Hermione’s remark but simply congratulated Sirius on being acquitted of all charges by an extremely shamefaced Cornellius Fudge.

**1996-1997**

He hadn’t really thought it through very well but Remus found that his constant visits to the Hospital Wing had some unexpected consequences. According to Sirius his clumsy, charming young cousin was quite taken with Remus. Of course, Sirius found the whole thing hilarious but Remus was torn.

His first thought was about Hermione. She was still only a child, really, having just turned seventeen years old. It would be at least another three years before she would meet the younger version of himself as he remembered. And that was the first time he really thought about what that might mean.

For the last nine years Remus had been waiting for this girl to grow up without really thinking about the fact that he was getting older, too. He had idealised a relationship that had never happened, a relationship that she may have been willing to pursue with a man then eight years older but what would she think of an embittered old werewolf nineteen years her senior?

Though she spent a considerable amount of time in the same house as him that summer Remus spent as much time avoiding Hermione as he did his newfound admirer, Nymphadora. She was becoming a young woman and Remus could see that she was starting to look more and more similar to how he remembered her. She had filled out and, while her body was still missing the lean muscle he remembered, she looked like a woman and not a young girl. Sirius had laughed at his agony, telling Remus that at seventeen she was ‘fair game’. He knew it was legal in the wizarding world but Remus didn’t feel right about doing anything until after the millennium.

As the year progressed Remus tried time and time again to let Nympahdora down gently. He told her that he was too old, too poor and too dangerous to even contemplate a relationship. He repeated it to her so often that he even found himself believing it. Hermione was young and healthy and happy. Why should she settle for him when she had so many her own age vying for her attention?

The treacherous part of him told him that he should just accept Nympahdora’s affections and forget about Hermione. After all, she knew about his condition and was willing to be with him anyway. But he could never make Tonks happy. She really was a wonderful woman and she deserved someone who would love her more than he would ever be able to. For nine years his heart had belonged to the girl with the bushy brown hair, even if she didn’t know it yet.

And every day the world marched closer to war. The death of Albus Dumbledore came as the last straw before Remus saw the world collapse around him. He knew now why Hermione had that haunted quality to her eyes, it was a result of what she would both witness and do over the coming months and, maybe, years of war.

**1997-1998**

It was the worst moment of his life when Sirius told Remus that Hermione, Harry and Ron had taken off on a mission Dumbledore had left them. Voldemort had openly taken over the ministry and both men agreed that they had to go into hiding with the rest of the Order. They had no way to contact the three teenagers and no idea if they were alive or dead.

The two friends sent the year trying to stay under the radar, getting other people to safety and trying to resist the new Ministry in any way that they could. Months and months went by and Remus listened for any news of Hermione and the boys but heard nothing. Sirius was worried too, not just about them, Remus knew, but about him too. His old friend had noticed how thin he was becoming, how the agony of his transformations exacerbated by the worry and doubt he internalised the rest of the month.

And then as summer broke it came. Word from the Order, Harry had appeared at Hogwarts. The Death Eaters were getting ready to march on the school. Remus and Sirius had got there as fast as they could. Sirius had run to his godson and embraced him but all Remus could see was the tired young woman with matted hair and cuts and bruises littering her pale skin. He could see a bloodstained bandage wrapped around her right forearm, covering the scar he knew to be there. Mudblood. She had tried to hide it from him before but he had seen it and he had wanted to kill whoever had given it to her.

He wanted to beg her to stay here, not to fight, to stay safe but he knew that he couldn’t do that. She would survive this battle, she had to, events had to come full circle and she had to meet his younger self in two years time.

So he let her go. He knew that she couldn’t be killed here, now and that eased his worry a little. Instead he concentrated on keeping himself alive, that someday they might have even a chance at the future he had dreamed of from the time he was twenty-eight years old.

When the dust settled, when Harry had won, he watched as she made her way back to her friends, safe. They had lost a surprisingly small number, though each loss was a tragedy. There had been some near-misses too, but Tonks and Fred Weasley would both make a full recovery.

Hermione was safe and the war was over and, for now that was all that mattered.

**1998-1999**

The year after the end of the war passed in a blur. Remus found himself a war hero and inundated with offers of work. It seemed that this second war had cleansed most of the wizarding world of its prejudices. They still had a way to go but as the new joint head of the Magical Beings’ Rights division of the Magical Law Department Remus felt that they were well on the way to change. He loved his job, loved knowing that (after all these years) he was finally in a position to make a difference. He also loved his co-worker.

Sirius was of the opinion (and expressed it regularly) that Remus should just tell Hermione what happened and ask her out on a date. Remus didn’t think it was that simple. How would he tell her that he had been in love with her all these years without seeming like a perverted old man? No, she needed to experience it for herself and then make up her own mind on whether to come to him or not. In work he would be professional and friendly towards her and nothing else.

If only that was at easy as it sounded. Getting along with Hermione was no problem, they worked extremely well together and in just under a year they had laid the groundwork for a whole new raft of legislation concerning magical beings. They had taken to having lunch together every day and Hermione had even taken to coming over to the house that Remus shared with Sirius for dinner every week, often accompanied by the boys and Ginny and Lavender but sometimes by herself when the two couples were otherwise engaged.

For a long time Remus had worried about her feelings for the youngest Weasley boy but nothing had ever transpired. They had kissed (he knew this) but Harry had told him and Sirius that it made their friendship awkward and they had simply reverted back to their previous status with no hard feelings. Lavender Brown had been added to the group a few months later and Remus had shared many eye-rolls with Hermione over the topic. She couldn’t stand the other girl, found her to be immature and annoying. Remus had to say that he agreed.

It was in moments like that, whether in the office or out for lunch or in his home, when Remus felt closest to his young colleague. They worked together so closely that he knew all of her mannerisms and ticks, something he had never had time to appreciate in their limited time together before. He knew that she would twirl her hair around a pen when she was reading, that she chewed gum when no one else was in the office with them but considered it the height of rudeness to continue to do so when in a meeting. He knew that she bit her lips when she was nervous and he knew his reaction to her doing so. It made him think of the brief kiss they had shared and how he wanted to do it again. There had been so many times when he had almost caved and come clean with her and every day they crept towards the year 2000 was agony. His wait was almost over and he didn’t know if he could hold out any longer.

The hardest times were the days of the full moon. Remus would always leave work at lunch time not because he was worried about making it home in time (thought that was certainly something he was very careful of since he had come back) but to make sure that he didn’t do anything stupid. Like push Hermione up against the wall beside her desk and kiss her senseless. Not that he had thought about it. A lot.

**2000**

On New Year’s day, slightly worse for wear after an enthusiastic party held by Harry at Grimmuald Place, Remus had received a letter from Hermione letting him know that she had decided to take a few weeks off and ‘travel’. He had nearly fainted when he read it, her neat handwriting confirming what he had longed for all this time.

It would only be a few weeks now, all he had to do was wait.


	11. Chapter 10

_She was running, dodging the streams of light as they shot past. A deep fog swirled around her feet and covered the obstructions littered across the ground, obstructions that she did not want to stop and consider right now. She had to find him._

_She heard an anguished roar to her left as one of the black cloaked figures fell. But that didn’t matter._

_Pushing her legs to run quicker, she crested the small hill that blocked her view of the rest of the field, the rest of the action._

_He was duelling with a black figure and as they both fell, her heart stopped. She flew to his side in an instant, her hands cradling his head as she searched desperately for signs of life. But there was none to be found. His amber eyes stared glassily into her own, unseeing._

/-/

She woke screaming, sobbing as she clutched her knees to her chest.

He was gone. He had been here, alive, Merlin she had never seen him so full of life, so vibrant. His smile, his laugh, his kiss.

He had kissed her, passionately. A rare moment in which Hermione could see something other than the self-deprecation and stoicism that had always seemed to define Remus in her mind.

And she had still sent him back.

‘Hermione?’ Ginny’s voice came from outside the door. ‘Can I come in?’

Hermione called out an affirmative, her voice hoarse. It was only when she heard her friend’s voice that she realised where she was, the light purple of the walls betraying the fact that she had been sleeping in the Potters’ guest room.

The younger girl’s eyes were filled with empathy as she looked at Hermione. She was sure that she looked a state but Ginny had seen her at her worst before, it hardly mattered. She sat down on the edge of the bed as Hermione sat back against the pillows. ‘I won’t insult you by asking how you are,’ she said bluntly, ‘just know that Harry and I are here for you.’

Hermione nodded, she wasn’t really ready to talk about the whole ordeal with Harry but there was something she needed to get off her chest. ‘I loved him, Ginny.’ The tears started to flow again as Ginny pulled Hermione into a hug, allowing her to rest her head on her shoulder. ‘I loved him and I sent him back, I _killed_ him.’

‘No,’ Ginny said, softly but with authority, ‘you did the only thing you could do. What would have happened if Remus hadn’t been there to be our teacher?’ she asked.

Hermione sniffed a little, recognising the same argument that she had used to justify her actions in the first place. ‘Harry wouldn’t have been able to fight the Dementors and Voldemort would have won.’

‘Exactly,’ Ginny said, ‘you had reasons for sending him back, Hermione. He had to live his life, the one he was meant to have.’

Hermione lifted her head off her friend’s shoulder. ‘I know but... why do you think he never said anything to me? I knew him for years and he never mentioned...’

Ginny studied her face carefully, seemingly looking for a gentle way to say what she wanted. ‘I think only Remus could have told you.’ She put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. ‘Harry’s making breakfast, if you want some.’

Hermione took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over her face. ‘Of course, thank you Ginny. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

The red head nodded with a small smile and left Hermione to get ready. She dragged herself into the guest bathroom and let the shower wash away her tears. She performed a simply cleaning spell on yesterday’s clothes. It didn’t remove the wrinkles but it would have to do until she went home. She would have to change before work, that was for sure. She needed to get up and do something, not wallow in tears all day like the likes of Lavender Brown would do. She would get started in some reports, Merlin knows she had taken enough time off work recently.

Harry was putting out scrambled egg and toast when Hermione came into the kitchen. She watched with envy as Ginny pecked him quickly on the lips as she reached around him for a glass. She would never have that with Remus. She took a steadying breath.

‘Do you need any help?’ she asked.

Harry turned to look at her while his wife filled a glass with water at the sink. His expression was a mirror of hers: empathy. There was no judgement in Harry’s eyes, he had met the Remus that Hermione had fallen in love with, had seen them together. While Ron might have turned red with anger at her falling for her former professor Hermione knew that Harry didn’t see it that way.

‘Everything’s under control, thanks.’ That was why Harry was the one she had run to. If Hermione had gone to the Burrow or back to her parents everyone would have been fussing and wanting to know what was wrong. Harry and Ginny both just let her process, they wouldn’t ask anything of her until they came to her first.

Ginny passed her the glass of water and Hermione accepted it gratefully. She took a sip as she watched Harry charm the plates out of the cupboard.

The fire glowed green in the grate and the tall figure emerged as Harry was turning out the stove. Hermione didn’t pay much attention, charming her glass to wash itself under the tap, until Harry dropped the plate he had been about to carry over to the table. Hermione whirled around to face the figure and almost choked as she saw who it was.

‘It’s not possible,’ Ginny whispered, clutching Hermione’s hand where she stood beside her.

Sirius Black raised an aristocratic eyebrow in confusion. ‘What’s not possible? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Gin. Hope you lot don’t mind me stopping in for breakfast. My housemate says he’s “not cooking your lazy arse breakfast again” because we were up all night so thought I’d stop by here while he sleeps it off.’

He seemed to be completely oblivious to the shock of the three young people as he poured himself a mug of tea from the pot. It was only when he realised that none of them had moved that his eyes narrowed and he asked, ‘Alright, what did I do this time?’

Hermione watched as Harry took a tentative step towards his godfather. He laid a hand on his shoulder and exhaled loudly. ‘You’re real.’

Sirius looked even more confused that before. ‘Of course I’m real, mate.’ He laid his hand on top of Harry’s and asked, clearly concerned, ‘Are you feeling alright, Harry?’

Harry’s mouth opened and closed and Hermione saw strange blue-white glow around Sirius’ hand. Hermione watched as his eyes closed for a brief second before he snapped them open again.

‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered, ‘Sirius, hold out your hand.’ Sirius looked reluctant at Harry’s demand but complied as the younger wizard grabbed Hermione’s hand and placed it on top of his godfather’s.

Suddenly a barrage of images began to assault Hermione’s brain.

_She was sitting in her office, her shoes kicked off and her legs dangling over the side of the chair. She was reading over some sort of report while the man opposite her kept nudging her foot with his own, telling her to keep on her side of the room. She simply picked up one of her shoes and loped it at his head, hearing him laugh as he ducked._

_She was eating dinner with Sirius and the other man. His back was turned to her while he spoke but she engaged with him anyway, mocking Sirius for his latest romantic failings in his quest to find ‘the one’. She saw the muscles in his shoulders tense at the topic, and tried to change it around to something different._

_She saw Sirius recounting how he had managed to pull Fred Weasley out of the way, just before an explosion had collapsed the corridor they were standing in during the battle at Hogwarts. She remembered Fred laughing good-naturedly about it with his twin brother, wide smiles on both their faces._

_She was back at Hogwarts after the final battle. She watched as Sirius embraced his godson, grateful that he was still alive. She watched as a familiar form came from out of the dust, out of the rubble. Remus._

_She remembered Remus quietly and kindly rejecting Nymphadora Tonks and her advances. He said that he was no good for her and that he could never love her like she deserved._

_She remembered Sirius telling her and the boys about how Remus had thrown him out of the way of the veil. How Remus had saved him from his cousin’s curse._

_She was standing in her back garden, surrounded by snow and looking up at the moon. She said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever force listening that she and her friends had survived the war. In the distance she heard the howl of the wolf and his black companion and smiled to herself._

Of course! Hermione though with sudden clarity. When she had sent Remus back he had somehow changed history. The paradox that ensued had to be corrected by ensuring that Hermione still made her wish. It would seem that both versions of history had ‘happened’ (if one could call it that) but Hermione had only remembered the one which led her to initiate events in the first place.

Hermione opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Harry was looking back at her with the same stunned expression on his face. ‘Those were... memories?’ she asked and he nodded mutely.

If what she saw was true, Remus had survived the war. He had somehow saved Sirius and (she now remembered) Tonks. Sirius hadn’t wanted to live in Grimmuald Place, she recalled, he had given it to Harry to use as he saw fit. Harry and Ginny were living in it until they could sell it and build their own house in Godric’s Hollow, where Sirius was currently sharing a house with Remus.

Sirius said he was up all night, she realised, up running with Moony.

The same Remus who worked with her, she now knew. Endless conversations suddenly came flooding back to her as Hermione tried to remember every single thing about working with him. They shared an office, petitioned the Minister together, drafted new laws, ate lunch and chatted about inane subjects to make the day go quicker. They even flirted a little, but never anything close to the conversations she had shared with him over the last few weeks. In her world he had left yesterday, she realised with a sinking heart, to Remus it had been twelve years.

‘I have to see him,’ Hermione muttered. No sooner had she said it than she remembered exactly where Remus and Sirius lived and how to get there. She needed to see him, needed proof that everything she had just experienced was real.

‘Go!’ Harry urged while Ginny looked between them, looking as confused as Sirius did in that moment. ‘We’ll be here when you get back.’

As Hermione ran down the path to the gate she hoped that she would be in time to catch him before he left for work. She apparated as soon as the wards made it possible to do so, the world seeming to spin as her feet touched the ground outside the now-familiar bungalow that stood in front of her. She flung the door open with her wand from ten feet away before rushing into the house. It all looked familiar, she thought, the large foyer and its dark cream walls and wooden floor, framed photographs scattered around the walls.

One of the doors on the opposite wall opened and Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat as she took in the figure standing there.

Remus Lupin had certainly aged since she saw him yesterday. There were both wrinkles and scars that had not been there previously and his hair was flecked with more grey than she remembered. But he was the same man.

Currently, he was standing with his wand pointed at her. He must only have been getting out of bed, too, as Hermione realised that he was wearing checked flannel bottoms and a plain grey t-shirt. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realised that it was Saturday, never mind the fact that last night had been the full moon.

‘Oh,’ he said sleepily, running a hand through his hair and lowering his wand, ‘Hermione, it’s only... you.’ Hermione watched as his eyes moved down her frame, seemingly to take in her worn jeans and her crumpled blue shirt. His eyes widened. ‘I... Hermione...’

They stood, staring at each other until Hermione broke the uneasy silence.

‘I sent you back yesterday,’ she said, hoping he would understand what she was talking about. ‘I sent you back and I regretted it from the second you disappeared.’

‘It finally happened?’ He asked, fully alert now. ‘You saw the younger Remus?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, wishing she could close the gap between them. ‘I did. I’m sorry, Remus, I’m so sorry.’

/-/ 

He continued to stare at the young woman as she stood in front of him. She hadn’t changed one bit from the Hermione he remembered from all those years ago. He even recognised the clothes she was wearing. He should feel hurt and betrayed that she had sent him back. He should feel angry at her for not giving him the chance to choose from himself.

He should, but all he could feel as he looked at her was an acute sense of relief that it had finally happened, that Hermione had finally experienced what he had waited for all these years. Now they had both experienced every conversation, every innocent touch… and that kiss.

He knew that she had been sending him back to his death. He had heard her anguished conversation with Harry in the early hours of that January morning but he could not blame her for it. Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time, Dumbledore had told him. He should never have travelled to that time, aged twenty-eight, and Hermione had done what she thought was best. He had had the benefit of the years to reconcile himself to these ideas but as he saw the tears in her eyes and the way her body was starting to shake he realised that she had not. He wasn’t entirely sure as to how the time-travel magic had worked but the guilt written all over her face made him wonder…

‘You didn’t know I was alive, did you?’ he asked. As she shook her head he felt a tearing at his heart. All that they had achieved in the last year hadn’t happened for her, he thought. The easy friendship they had fallen into had been non-existent.

But his heart lifted slightly as she qualified her answer, ‘I didn’t remember, Remus, but I do now.’

She looked so fragile, he thought, a word he never would have associated with the strong young woman he met many years ago. Four strides took him across the room as he gathered her into his arms. He didn’t care how repulsed she might be later at being held in such an intimate manner by a man nineteen years her senior, right now he needed to feel that she was real.

Her response surprised him, instead of merely accepting the embrace her slender arms wound around his neck tightly and she pressed her body into his. Remus could feel his own body responding to her actions and he was so busy trying to stop that particular embarrassing reaction that he didn’t see the spark in her eyes until she had pressed her lips against his firmly.

They had only kissed once before but Remus still remembered the taste of her. Not of her toothpaste or of the tea she had been drinking, but of her. Unfortunately he didn’t even have time to respond before she was pulling back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, trying to extract herself from his arms, ‘it’s been twelve years. I shouldn’t assume…’

Remus was… confused, he decided, definitely confused. ‘What?’ he tightened his grip on her to stop her escape. ‘Hermione, what do you mean?’

She looked up at him from under her lashes in that way that always made him a little bit crazy. ‘You couldn’t feel the same after all this time.’

His heart began thundering in his chest as he realised what she meant. ‘Is that truly your only concern?’ he asked.

The witch looked but nodded. ‘Yes.’

It was Remus who initiated the kiss this time. She still wanted him, despite everything she still felt something for him. ‘It’s been twelve long years,’ his said, slightly out of breath. ‘You couldn’t possibly imagine how many times I’ve wanted to tell you.’ Her eyes were huge and shining brightly in her pale face. ‘It nearly killed me to see the danger you went through, I only managed to do it because I knew you had to survive to see this moment.’

‘And you still want me?’ Hermione asked.

‘Yes,’ he replied, certain of his answer, ‘but if this isn’t what you want, I’ll walk away.’ He wasn’t sure if he could but Remus felt that he needed to give her the option. But as Hermione continued to stare at him it seemed that she was remembering more of their relationship of the last year or so.

‘You’ve waited all this time,’ she said, ‘even in work you’ve held back.’

He knew she was referring to the flirting that went on between them in the office and Remus nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’

Hermione suddenly smiled up at him a little shyly. ‘My feelings haven’t changed. You might not have heard me say it when you left, but I love you, Remus Lupin, just as much as I did yesterday, twelve years ago.’

His lips twisted into what he knew was a wry smile. ‘But Hermione, I’m twelve years older than I was in your yesterday.’

She shook her head and her curls bounced. ‘And yesterday you were still seven years older than me. Age is just a number, Remus.’

He should have argued, he really should have, but Remus was acutely aware of the hurt in her voice and realised that he hadn’t yet told her exactly how he felt. ‘You have no idea how in love with you I am,’ he confessed, bringing a hand up to brush her hair off her cheek. ‘I don’t think you’re too young for me,’ he explained, ‘I just worry about what you might miss out on because of me.’

Hermione laughed and it was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. She pressed her lips to his again, just for a brief moment, before raising her eyes to his with determination. ‘You’re all I need to be happy, Remus.’

They had a long way to go from here and Remus knew there would be many challenges. However, as he felt her lips move under his and her body respond to his touch he had to concede that it had and would be worth it.


	12. Epilogue

**10 December 2000**

The tenth of December saw one Hermione Jean Granger standing the in middle of her back garden amidst the winter snow, head tilted towards the night sky. It was nearly a year since she had made the fateful wish that had changed not only her life but that of so many others. Including her husband’s.

Her family and friends had been surprised when she had eloped with Remus only a few months after her fateful meddling with time-travel. Apart from telling Ronald after he returned from his working holiday Hermione and Remus decided that they would not tell anyone else about the whole affair. Sirius had known for a few years, and Harry and Ginny had reconciled themselves to the idea quickly. Ronald had taken a bit more time, saying that he could just about cope with the whole thing when they were flirting at the office. Marriage was another thing entirely.

To the rest of their world the relationship between Hermione and her former teacher and now work colleague seemed to come from nowhere. And as for her parents…

Hermione grimaced slightly. That had not been a fun night. Trying to tell her parents that she was in love with a man the same age as them had not gone down particularly well. They were quicker to accept the idea than Ron, however, and had not been as upset as Hermione had anticipated at the news of their elopement. She now hoped that that would bode well for the next bit of news she had to tell them.

She hadn’t started to show yet, but she knew the signs. The way Remus had been acting only confirmed it in her mind. He claimed that he didn’t understand why he had been so protective of her over the last few weeks and Hermione deduced that he must be acting on an instinct he wasn’t aware of. Whatever it was he had stared daggers at any male co-worker who had stopped into their office to talk to her. Even Kingsley, she remembered with amusement, who had kindly but firmly reminded Remus that it wasn’t normal for married couples to have private offices in the ministry and that if he didn’t think that he and Hermione were acting ‘appropriately’ then he would be happy to have one of them moved. If only he knew how many times propriety had fallen by the wayside since they were married.

She remembered one occasion, just last week when they had both been working late on a new research paper…

She would never complain about their office being small again, it had its advantages.

‘’Mione? What are you doing out here?’

His arms wound around her waist with ease and she leaned back into the warmth and comfort that his body provided.

‘I was just thinking,’ she answered, ‘it was about a year ago that I wished for you to be alive.’ She felt him nod, the longer stands of his hair tickling her neck as he rested his forehead on her shoulder. ‘You’re more restless than usual today,’ she noted.

His breath warmed her skin as he exhaled. ‘I don’t know why.’

Hermione smiled silently. She knew her husband well. If she told him now all that would achieve was him being worked up and worried about her. Sirius would never get him to calm down tomorrow night.

‘You know,’ he said suddenly, looking up at a moon that promised to be full the next night, ‘I find that I don’t harbour quite the same hatred for the moon that I used to.’ He stroked her cheek and smiled down at her.

Though his face was lined and his hair flecked with grey Hermione still considered him the most handsome man she knew. He told her often that her glasses were rose tinted but she didn’t care. ‘And why is that, Remus?’

‘It brought me to you,’ he said simply, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Yes, she decided, turning in his arms, she would tell him in two days’ time, after he had run under the moon once more. And then they would carry on, and do what they always did. Together, going forward.

**Author's Note:**

> JK Rowling owns the characters, and I simply borrow them.
> 
> Previously posted on FanFiction.net.


End file.
